


The Sins of the Beloved

by Anonymous



Series: Long Lost to Where No Pathway Goes [3]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Plug, Archery, Arguments, Bathtubs, Blow Jobs, Daddy Kink, Dildos, Emotional Hurt, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Father/Son Incest, First Love, Fluff and Smut, Hair Braiding, Hair Brushing, Incest, Kissing, Love, M/M, Masturbation, Original Character(s), Parent-Child Relationship, Parent/Child Incest, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Riding, Rimming, Slow Sex, naked bottom clothed top, thrandolas - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-04-08 09:12:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 64,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4299066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This fic is the third part of my "Long Lost to Where No Pathway Goes"-Series. I strongly recommend to read both stories beforehand, otherwise this fic might be confusing every here and then.<br/>Part I - <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1127933/chapters/2274665"> Beltaine in Mirkwood</a><br/>Part II - <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1165412/chapters/2369556"> A Sequel of Decay</a></p><p>Legolas & Thranduil have shared the sacred night of Beltaine together in passion and sin, unaware of the identity of the other. Afterwards their feelings for each other collide (lots of sadness ensured) before they finally give into their forbidden desires</p><p> <strong>This story tells about their lives in the following weeks and months, the gentle exploration of their utmost desires and secret love as daily life in Thranduil's kingdom proceeds.</strong></p><p> </p><p>  <b>ON HIATUS UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE. I do not have the time nor the muse for it right now.</b></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Coming Home

**Author's Note:**

> **[Disclaimer]** Unfortunately the elves are not mine but Tolkien's and PJs, I just love to play with them every once in a while - no money is made from this.
> 
>  **[WARNING]** This story contains explicit (non-abusive) sexual content between father and son; if this is not to your liking, please leave now. You've been warned – I am well aware that this is not everybody's cup of tea. 
> 
> **[Timeline & Canon Divergence]** Set many centuries before the Hobbit & Lord of the Rings, a time when the woods were still relatively safe and green. Thranduil’s wife sailed to the Western Shores when Legolas was seven years old; Legolas has just reached his legal majority the year before the story is set (so he’s 50 now). In this work Thranduil has two sons - Calengund is Legolas’ elder brother (he’s 100 years older). I am truly sorry if the timeline is a little fucked up but it follows the Beltaine in Mirkwood fic (which was supposed to be a one shot PWP and therefore I never paid too much attention to actual canon timelines – and now I have to pay dearly for it *sigh*). Additionally, as not much is known about Thranduil’s youth and his time as prince I go with the fanon/my own headcanon that he grew up in Doriath at Thingols court.
> 
> To sum it up: Wifey sailed West, two adult children, Oropher is dead. 
> 
> **[Rooms]** An outline of Thranduil's private quarters can be found at the end of Chapter 01
> 
> **[Original Characters created for the “long lost to where no pathway goes”- series]**  
>  *Calengund (Green Prince) = Thranduil’s eldest son  
> *Fergil (Beech Star) = The Captain of the Guard
> 
> (other OCs together with canon characters might appear as the story progresses – Thranduil and Legolas do not live a life of isolation. They need friends, soldiers, people around them, allies and enemies)
> 
>  **[Tags]** The tags will evolve as the story progress as will the characters. If a chapter involves certain kinks I will give a notification in the respective chapter. I will also try to make those kink-based chapters stand-alones which have nothing to do with the actual plot so that they can be easily skipped.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil and Legolas have not left the royal quarters for two days, besotted by their desire for each other. However, Legolas has to leave for a few hours (much to his father's disappointment) to gather his belongings from the talan outside the palace as he wants to move permanently back to his own chambers in Thranduil's halls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **[Beta]** <3 Thank you so much, [OohLaGalion](http://archiveofourown.org/users/OohLaGalion/pseuds/OohLaGalion), for beta-reading this chapter <3

*****

**Coming Home**

**~~**

*

Legolas woke up in a good mood the following morning when the pale moonlight finally made way for the brightness of the sun. Despite the earliness of the day (the prince was definitely no early bird), his mood was indeed extraordinarily good, and it correlated strangely with his exhaustion and fatigue. Much to his surprise he felt less sore than he had the previous time – even if this had also been a night to remember. He could still hardly believe what had happened between them, Thranduil’s scent still lingering on his ivory skin, his touches ghosting across his neck, his cheeks and his lips.

Legolas couldn’t help but smile. He had not slept more than a few hours those past two days – the first hours in each other’s arms were too precious to be wasted with recreational slumber. They had kissed and caressed, carefully explored every inch of the other’s body, tasted the divine skin until their lips were burning, until their breath came ragged, until nothing than moans spilled from their mouths. The memory alone was enough to make him smile dreamingly.

With a content sigh Legolas rolled over to face his lover, unsurprised to find that Thranduil was already awake, but relieved that he hadn’t left the bed this time.

“Aur vaer meleth-nîn,” _(Good morning, my love)_ his father said with a radiant smile when their eyes met. For the young elf it was enough to be entirely taken aback – again. He had seen his father’s smile a thousand times, and still it was as if the way he smiled had somehow changed in the past days.

Soft sunlight fell through the windows – it seemed as summer finally had arrived in his father’s realm. Legolas was too warm under the covers, both from the sunshine and from the almost coy look Thranduil gave him.

“Aur vaer, Ada,” he finally replied with a dreamy smile, struggling free of the restricting blankets. Carefully he placed his arm around his father’s naked chest; never would he tire of feeling the silken skin beneath his fingertips.

“I hope your sleep was most pleasant?” Thranduil asked, entangling his fingers with his son’s.

His response sounded pathetic indeed, but it was true – he hadn’t slept all too well the past few weeks, plagued by nightmares and anxiety. “When I am in your company – always.”

A hearty laugh was the first comment he received, followed by a charmingly exclaimed: “Stop flattering me so, Legolas” and a gentle nudge against his side. For Legolas it seemed as if his father’s cheeks blushed ever so slightly, highlighting his ethereal beauty even further. Life had never been better, the prince thought as he lowered his head onto Thranduil’s shoulder, enjoying the tranquil moments of silence.

For Mirkwood’s king it had been many centuries since somebody was allowed to spend two nights – and the mornings – together with him. Usually he had bid his lovers good-bye when everything was over, usually in the middle of the night to avoid saying the words in the morning, afraid that his innocent son might see him together with the countless paramours he'd had in the past. But this was different – so entirely different than anything he had experienced in all the previous long and lonely years, and Legolas was far from being ‘somebody’ he did not care for in the slightest.

With a content sigh Legolas snuggled closer to Thranduil, almost accidently rolling on top of him when he tried to reach the tempting lips to wish him a proper good morning – not as son and heir but as the king’s lover. The mere thought sent a shiver down his spine, and he couldn’t help but ask himself if this was reality.

With caution he bent his head down until his tresses fell forwards, hiding their illicit caresses, until his lips were only inches away from the one he desired so much.

“Aur vaer, meleth-nîn. Ge melin,” _(Good morning my love, I love you)_ Legolas whispered before he placed a chaste and sweet kiss onto his father’s lips – tentative, barely there.

His body was still sticky from their nightly activities his lover didn’t seem to care in the slightest; with a fluid motion Thranduil wrapped his strong arms around his waist and pulled Legolas on top of him. “This was hardly acceptable, was it?” he asked jestingly, not giving Legolas the chance to reply by sealing his lips not a moment later.

Legolas tried to catch his breath, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of their kiss, which lasted until his entire body sizzled with anticipation and longing. Thranduil’s desire for him seemed to be endless as the starlit sky. “Better, so much better, my love” he heard him mumble between kisses that soon became more frantic and demanding, until his entire body quivered with need once more, until his skin was glistening golden from transpiration – until he was certainly in need of a shower, even if it meant to finally leave his father’s bed.

The honeyed words echoed in Legolas’ head over and over again, long after he had finally left his father’s bed, and despite the coldness of the water he still felt incredibly hot.

 

*****

“Ada?” Legolas asked when he came back from the bathroom, rubbing his hair dry with a towel. He was completely naked with just another towel wrapped around his waist, tiny beads of water still trickling down his lithe body. “Would you mind if I go to the talan later on?” Actually he didn’t wish to leave, but a few things were stored there that he might need soon.

_‘Leaving?’_ Thranduil mused in silence as his gaze wandered over his lover’s body. He was temptation incarnated, and desire flared once more. _‘_

_I am not certain if I will let you go, Legolas. If I **CAN** let you go.’ _

His eyes widened upon his own thoughts; a possessiveness that he had long deemed forgotten began to occupy his heart.

“No, I do not, but I wonder why you deem it necessary?” he finally said aloud, trying to keep his voice steady.

Actually he felt more like ravishing him than letting him go.

Legolas cocked his head, trying to read the expression on his father’s handsome face. So many alien emotions rushed through those keen eyes, and he only managed to read very few. “Because most of my belongings are stored there – and I wish to move back to my rooms in your halls again,” he stated, and as the words came, the smile on Thranduil’s lips grew. Aye, he certainly was relieved to hear those words

“Your rooms?” Thranduil snickered. “Do you actually mean **_YOUR_** rooms or do you mean MY chambers, which you have mistakenly named ‘yours’ after spending the past two days here?” His voice rang with an almost childish excitement.

“ ** _MY_** rooms,” Legolas stated, even if the prospect of moving into his father’s quarters sounded more than intriguing. Yet it felt not right – it seemed too early, too much at once. As wonderful as the past days had been, the young elf was still slightly weary and careful as the king’s mood could be unpredictable at times.

“We will see,” he said in a mysterious tone. “We will see.” Actually Thranduil both wished and hoped for it; his bed had been deserted ever since his beloved wife had died. “Anyway, Legolas,” he continued softly. “Your hair is a mess and this is an understatement – would you mind if I braid it for you?”

_‘What was even the question?’_ Legolas thought, but of course he did not mind! He loved to feel his father’s finger combing through his hair. In all its innocence, it was such a beautiful and intimate caress. “Yes,” he said automatically, in a delighted voice, and his father’s facial expression lightened up.

“Then please, come here,” demanded Thranduil with a gesture of his hand, waving his lover over to join him. Carelessly Legolas let the towel fall from his hands onto the ground, which earned him a shake of his father’s head and a look of disapproval. The king was the tidiest person he'd ever known – whereas he wasn’t and possibly never would be. There must be an advantage to being the king’s son and having servants for himself, after all.

As soon as Legolas sat down at the edge of the bed, Thranduil began to let his fingers run through his damp her and began to entangle the golden strands; one by one ever so carefully so as not to hurt his son and lover. His father had combed and braided his hair countless times, but this was entirely different still – Legolas couldn’t tell if he should blame his drowsy mind for it or if it WAS actually different! Continuously he threaded his hands through his son’s hair until the strands felt like water slipping through his fingers.

Involuntarily a content sigh escaped Legolas’ lips and he allowed his eyes to fall shut, savoring the gentle touch against his head. His father’s fingertips caressed his scalp, giving him a gentle, slow-motioned massage until another sigh escaped him.

When the king was finally satisfied with the result, he fetched a wooden brush from the nightstand and began to comb out Legolas’ hair properly. Stroke after stroke ran from the very top of his head towards the ends of the strands, again and again until it shone like molten gold. The caress was so utterly innocent yet so beyond intimate. When Thranduil stopped, Legolas felt unbearably sleepy, even if he hadn’t been tired when it started.

With a muffled sound the brush fell onto the silken sheets just before Thranduil mumbled against his lover’s neck. “You are beautiful.” His hands wandered from Legolas’ shoulders down his sides, encircling him around his waist. “You have always been, yet it feels as if I see your true beauty for the first time.” Legolas couldn’t help but to feel flattered upon those words of adoration. With a genuine smile he allowed his head to fall back against his father’s chest, meeting his sire’s gaze. “I thought you wished to braid my hair?” asked Legolas, not that he minded the diversion.

“I still wish to,” Thranduil responded with a chuckle, placing another tiny kiss onto the silken skin. “But it seems as if my hands have developed a life of their own. Do you mind?”

“Never.”

“Good.”

The embrace tightened, and not a second later his lips were sealed in an affectionate and gentle kiss; Legolas still couldn’t quite believe that anything of this was sweet reality. He closed his eyes again and allowed the soft lips and tongue to devour his mouth, sweet but still demanding. His own hands found their way into his father’s hair, whilst his father’s slipped distinctly downwards beneath the towel around his waist.

“Ada…” Legolas whispered, catching his breath. “What are you doing?”

As he had so often, Thranduil read his face as if his thoughts were written on it.“Making certain that you won’t stay away too long,” he replied in a husky tone and with a devious grin.

“ADA!” For moments Legolas’ eyes were wide and his mouth gaped ajar. Was this truly what his father said? So much naughtiness, so much filth was ringing in his voice – he loved to hear those words, yet he still needed a while to get accustomed to them.

_‘Oh Valar dear,’_ Legolas thought, apparently he had to learn a great many things. Never would he have thought that the king would even be capable of saying something like that. Nevertheless those words sent a shiver down his spine, making him feel tingly all over. Not a second later, Thranduil withdrew his hands and made him sit upright again. Legolas moaned upon the loss of contact – he could have stayed like this forever.

With utter care he began to weave beautiful braids into the violet-scented golden strands, keeping the hair out of Legolas’ face, a tiny plait on each side and a slightly larger one at the back of the head. The majority of his son’s hair was still loose, cascading down his naked shoulders.

“Done,” Thranduil whispered and placed a kiss onto Legolas’ neck. “I assure you, you are beyond beautiful, but please have a look yourself.” In fact, the king was entirely pleased with his handiwork, smiling fondly. With a little reluctance he rose to his feet and walked over to the impressive mirror. When his eyes met the reflection, he saw that the braids were the exact same style he had worn on Beltaine night, but the pattern of the braids was slightly different. He hadn’t seen this elaborate style before, but said nothing about it and admired his appearance – he was indeed beautiful in all his half-nude glory.

When he reached the bathroom to finally get dressed, Legolas realized that the only clothes he had were those from three days ago; lying scattered somewhere in his father’s chambers. A sigh of annoyance left his lips – there was no possibility of wearing his father’s clothes, which were much too big for him. This meant he had to wear the dirty garments again. With another sigh of annoyance he retrieved his tunic, which at least seemed to be clean even if it wasn’t fresh anymore; but the leggings couldn’t be worn again, even if he wanted to, as they were sullied from his and Thranduil's frantic night.

“Ada,” Legolas stated matter-of-factly when he came to stand in front of the impressive wardrobe in the other room. “I am borrowing a pair of your leggings.”

“I assume you know where everything is?” he replied, still lying in his massive four-poster bed.

No, actually he didn’t but he would certainly find what he was looking for – and maybe something else that would spark his interest, given what he himself hoarded in his wardrobe. Robes among robes hung accurately sorted by color, followed by countless tunics and undergarments. Somewhere beneath them Legolas found some plain black breeches, which were entirely sufficient for his brief journey outside his father’s halls. Aye, too large still, but better than nothing. Much to his disappointment, Thranduil did not hoard interesting things beneath the clothes, and inwardly Legolas wondered where the secret stash was. A pity, certainly.

Smiling, Legolas moved back into the sleeping chamber where his father still rested on the bed, placing a gentle kiss onto his forehead. “Hannon le, Ada,” Legolas whispered.

It was the moment when he wanted to take a step backwards that Thranduil’s hands caught his wrists, pulling his lithe body easily on top of him. Puzzlement was visibly spread across the young elf’s face when he fell. “I assume this was for your most beloved father,” Thranduil explained with a hearty laugh. “But hardly a sufficient good-bye for your lover, don’t you think?”

For seconds he was lost for words– until he saw the mirth and mischief sparkling in his lover’s eyes.

“You want me…” Legolas said with his wide eyes meeting his lover’s gaze, feeling the hard cock against his stomach again. “AGAIN!” They hadn’t left the bed for longer than maybe three hours in total these past two days, but it was as if Thranduil’s desire never ceased. Legolas had no comparison, but he felt was if his father was truly insatiable and he didn’t know if he should feel shocked or relieved.

“But of course I want you!” he responded with another chuckle as one hand slipped beneath Legolas’ tunic, groping the firm buttocks through the fabric whilst the other found its way in his son’s hair; a few other filthy words lay on his lips but he bit his tongue and remained quiet for the moment. Their relationship was still fresh as the drops of dew, innocent and fragile – a wrong word and everything would scatter into a thousand pieces – or at least that was what Thranduil thought. He decided that he shouldn’t test his luck, even if it was unlikely that Legolas would object.

By now Legolas was not entirely certain if he actually wanted – **_NEEDED_** to leave the king’s chambers anymore, falling under the sinful spell all over again. Still, he wondered how his father couldn’t blush to the tips of his ears insinuating such naughty things – he certainly felt blood creeping towards his cheeks and his pointy ears. Flattered and utterly charmed, but entirely at ease at the same time.

His lips curled into a heart-warming smile. “I said I wish to leave to get some of my belongings, and what do you do? Lure me into your arms, your bed.” With every word he had said, Thranduil’s fingertips moved along his skin until goose flesh was the reward, until the lips that he desired so much were only inches away. Simultanously, both leaned in and their lips met half-way, electricity crackling between them. It was barely a press of lips against his own, and yet Legolas felt a shiver of delight run down his spine, making the tiny hair at his neck stand on end. Thranduil slipped a hand into Legolas’ hair, urging him even closer than he already was, and when his young lover returned the kiss, parting his lips in the most sensual way, it felt as if he was dreaming again. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think anymore, as it was toe-curling and sensual, messy and wet in the most wonderful way possible. Legolas' eyes have long fallen shut when he yielded to the divine sensation, allowing his lover to take control of the kiss, but his hands cupped his face until no air was left in his lungs.

Breathless and almost speechless they parted, looking at the other mesmerized. They were both hard, but it didn’t matter.

“I fear you have completed your final goal,” teased Legolas.

“I am deeply sorry,” mumbled Thranduil when he finally let go of Legolas’ mouth. Mischief was tucking at his lips, his eyes sparkling in mirth. No, he was not sorry at ALL, nor was he ashamed of what he did.

“No you are not!” Legolas responded with a hearty laugh, poking his father in the side. “Not even a little bit.”

“I fear you are right,” he said with a responding laugh that was like music in Legolas’ ears; never had his father been more beautiful. When the young elf thought that wasn’t possible anymore, it happened. The king’s features were entirely relaxed, his breathing even and steady, his eyes shining in the soft sunlight. A second longer in his arms and he would never leave the quarters. Ever. Every second he spent in his father’s arms, he felt more heat flood his insides and spread down to his cock. By now Thranduil had certainly achieved what he wanted; Legolas was painfully hard, and his father’s words echoed in his head: _‘Making certain that you won’t stay away too long.’_ No, HE himself would make certain that he would be back as soon as possible, desperate as he was already. And another no – he would not touch himself to bring his aching body release.

With an exaggerated sigh he finally jumped to his feet, saying: “I won’t be gone for long. I promise.”

When he took a step backwards, Legolas looked at him with that smile in his eyes that only Thranduil could see, the smile that warmed his heart so much.

“I sincerely hope you keep true to your promise,” Thranduil said when his son walked away from him. “And have a wonderful day.” He was not certain if Legolas had heard the words, but it mattered little; he would gladly await his return however long it took.

*****

The forest was peaceful as ever. The sun shone brightly above him, but the light was filtered by the dense leaf-canopy with a gentle breeze dancing through the trees. There were fewer orchards in the direction of his talan, but open fields between the trees, green and lush grass, strewn with wildflowers of different colors. It was finally becoming summer, he realized. The tantalizing smell of summer rain and vernal flowers wavered through the forest, tickling his nose every now and then, even if his father’s scent stilled seemed to linger on his skin. Distant shouts of other elves occasionally reached his ears, but for the most part of his walk, the woods were quiet, much to his relief.

Legolas felt as if he has not been here in ages, when truly it had only been a few days.

Carefully he climbed the wooden stairs upwards. There was not much he needed; his hair clips for certain, the heavy tome he had snatched from the library some weeks ago, and a few other personal belongings were gathered together in a few minutes. Still, Legolas hesitated to simply leave – instead he fell backwards onto his bed and closed his eyes, allowing his thoughts to roam freely. Soon they were caught in the blissful haze of their first shared night, the thrill of being chased through the forest without knowing who ran after him. Legolas smiled to himself at the memory – he never thought it possible that his father, after all king for many years, hadn’t lost his playful nature. His smile only broadened when he recalled how his lithe body was pressed against the tree in frantic desire – oh it had been truly wonderful, and for a few seconds he was tempted to slip his hand into the borrowed breeches. With a heavy sigh he opened his eyes again and tried to keep his hands under control. No, he would keep true to his promise!

Quickly the young elf fetched everything he thought necessary and closed the door carefully behind him, as he wouldn’t come back soon.

 

*

Thranduil had not been seen the past two days and for a second he wondered if he should pay his closest advisors a brief visit to inform them that all is well, but he soon decided against it. No, he couldn’t be bothered at the slightest.

Instead he savored the beauty of doing nothing for once, indulging in pleasant daydreams, in everything he hadn’t allowed himself to do for many years.

The fire in the marble hearth of Thranduil’s spacious lounge had long burnt down, and as it was warm and sunny outside, the warmth of the crackling flames was not needed anymore. Filtered sunlight fell softly through the large window front, the rays dancing over his skin. As he neither expected any visitors nor planned to leave his quarters all too soon, his choice had fallen to an informal robe entirely made out of silk – ice-blue with silvery embroidery on the sleeves. Thranduil hadn’t worn the garment in many years – in fact he had almost forgotten about it, as it was hardly suitable for his regal duties. With every step he took the soft fabric caressed his frame, a feather-like coolness against his heated skin.

Heavy brocade robes were made for the icy guts of winter as was his beloved Dorwinion. Today, however, summer had finally announced its presence; early – aye – but a pleasant surprise nevertheless and truly befitting, he mused. Carefully Thranduil poured a goblet of elderflower wine into his silver, jewel-adorned goblet and brought it to his lips. For a moment he savored the divine scent of the wine before he tasted the combination of sweet and sour on his tongue. Involuntarily a smile tugged at his lips as distant memories crossed his thoughts.

Life was good these days.

Thranduil was a little astonished at his own thoughts, as it was actually something he had never thought possible again – he had found happiness when he had last expected it, only days after he had thought he would fade from grief and horror, only days after the greatest wrong he had ever done. Shortly after a time when he had finally accepted that his bed might be cold and lonely until the very end of days; the paramours he took on a regular basis hardly counted.

Still, the illicit nature of their secret relationship bothered him to some extent; delving into the situation without giving it endless thought simply was not his usual manner. Aye, bedding his own son still seemed to be so very wrong – but it felt so very right at the same time, and slowly he would come to terms with the forbidden longing that repeatedly occupied his thoughts.

For the first time in many years he was at ease. Both in his mind and his heart. Completely and entirely – without having consumed several bottles of wine to lull him into a dysfunctional state where he simply couldn’t care anymore. Whilst he had enjoyed the sweet and alluring taste of it ever since he had first partaken of it, he had mostly enjoyed it in the pleasant company of others, during clandestine meetings with suitors and lavish festivities his father had thrown back when life had been carefree and joyful. However, when his wife had died, the consumption of the dorwinion and miruvor had very quickly become an unhealthy behavior, one he hated to the core because it showed his weakness – and every glass he downed made him even weaker. It was a vicious circle. Thranduil had fought many a battle to get rid of his self-destructive habit, mostly in vain. From time to time he was abstinent for a few weeks before it would start all over again. If it hadn't been for Legolas, he was not certain if he would be still alive.

But he was – more alive than he had been in many years, energy rushing through him. Besotted with love and desire. Legolas had not been gone for long, not even a few hours, but Thranduil was already beginning to miss his presence; the sweet taste of his lover’s lips still lingered on his own, now mingling with the elderflowers. The innocent and exploring fingers still seemed to dance over his bare chest, which was not even bare anymore. Legolas' unique scent of violets seemed to waver through the entire room, and it made him smile all the more.

Life was indeed wonderful, Thranduil mused as he sank down onto the chaise longue, eagerly but patiently awaiting his son’s return.

 

*****

Legolas’ return from his talan through the sun-caressed forest was uneventful; apart from the guards that secured the entrance to the palace, he didn’t meet a single soul. Their surprise when they saw him, and the distant mumbling that followed, nearly went unnoticed by the prince, and even if he would have noticed, he would certainly have blamed the kitchen maids for it. As much as the king detested gossip, there was no possibility of eliminating it completely. That he was the very reason for their behavior did not even occur to him, with his mind reeling with thoughts of his secret lover.

Hastily he hurried through the deserted corridors, climbing the countless steps, hushing over towering stone bridges in the direction of his own quarters, with his belongings securely wrapped in a blanket. Oddly enough he felt late already, and with every step he took his heart-beat increased, an awkward anticipation rushing through him. Never had he felt such strong emotions, not even after Beltaine night. A thousand butterflies dancing through his stomach was an underestimation – it was millions.

Galion saw Legolas walking – no jumping happily through the endless corridor that lead in the direction of his private quarters. Where usually his long hair was flowing freely, now three elaborate braids decorated his golden head. For Galion it was hard to catch a proper view in the dim twilight and even harder to analyze the exact style, but those were certainly no normal braids – of that he was certain.

Aye, everything made sense as it would also account for Legolas changed behavior, Galion thought with slight unease. When he had seen him last, the king’s son had been in the depths of despair; now he was on top of the world.

“Legolas,” Galion called out, taking a few swift steps forward. “Legolas, wait!”

Legolas turned around instantly, his eyes wide with surprise. No, he hadn’t even heard him coming nor had he expected to meet anybody in this part of the palace. But, after all, this was Galion who had a natural gift for catching him when he last expected him. “Galion!” he exclaimed in a surprised but friendly tone. “I did not expect to meet you.”

“Nor did I,” the auburn-haired elf responded politely. “Especially as I haven’t seen you in the past days.”

Legolas shrugged at the remark, but kept quiet even if he wished to scream his happiness out loud. Despite his inner turmoil, he didn’t deem it wise.

“I was occupied,” he said simply. It was not a lie, but it was not the entire truth either.

“Occupied – I see,” said Galion, scratching his chin as if he was deeply lost in thought. In fact he struggled with himself as it was impossibly hard to bite back the chuckle that began to form in his throat. Galion had a fairly good idea what exactly ‘occupied’ meant. Legolas’ slightly awkward footsteps told him as much.

By now they stood in front of the massive door that guarded the entrance to Legolas’ chambers. “Would you mind if I would came inside a moment?” he inquired politely. “I promise you it won’t take long.”

“No, no,” Legolas said as he unlocked the door and stepped inside, leaving it open for Galion to follow. “Please, come in.”

The situation was awkward to some extent. Legolas had been his friend for many years, but he was also the king’s son. He wished to get it over and done with as soon as possible and decided it was best not to use soft-soaping phrases and ambiguous hints.

“Legolas,” Galion said once the door was closed behind them. “Do you deem it wise to indulge in fleeting nights in order to shoo away your sadness and pain?”

Legolas raised an eyebrow. Of all questions, he had not been expecting that one, and he didn’t know why his friend said those words. “I am not indulging in anything,” he replied in a defensive tone.

Galion met his eyes. “Oh, my dear boy,” he commented in a calm voice. “I can easily see through your lies, little one. It has always been like this – or shall I remind you of the incidenct with the horse again?”

Legolas shot him a pouting look. “Please not this again – but truly, I am not lying this time.”

“Your hairstyle says something entirely different, though.” Galion couldn’t fight back the snicker.

The young elf’s eyes widened in surprise – he didn’t understand anything at all anymore. “My hair?!” he shrieked. By now, genuine puzzlement was spread all over his face.

“Yes your hair, Legolas,” answered Galion, taking one of the braids between his fingers. There was no doubt, the braids were exactly what he had thought them to be from the beginning. “You have never worn your hair like this, and I highly doubt that you have woven those braids into it yourself.”

This was truly getting ridiculous, Legolas thought.

“Galion!” Legolas exclaimed, slightly annoyed with the little hints his friend seemed to offer. “Stop speaking in riddles!”

“I will – if you will tell me whose artwork this is,” he answered, entirely unimpressed by the other’s sulking behavior.

For a second Legolas pondered his thoughts, if he should answer truthfully, but what else should he say? He hadn’t lain with anybody – never, not even once! Apart from his father, yet Galion was hinting at such. A heavy sigh of frustration was followed by a simple “Ada’s.”

“Your father’s?!” Galion could hardly believe that Legolas spoke the truth. “Do not take me for a fool, Legolas.” He scolded him as he had done so often in his youth.

“I am not, Galion,” Legolas squeaked in defense, losing his patience to some extent. “My father weaved them into my hair this morning.”

Galion shook his head. Thranduil was a mystery to him – he didn’t doubt the prince’s words, yet they didn’t make sense. Why of all things would the king do something like that to his most beloved son? “I assume he didn’t have the courtesy to tell you about their background, then?” he asked rhetorically.

“No, not exactly! All he said was: 'Have a wonderful day.' But you seem to have more knowledge than I have. Please, Galion enlighten me.” Absently, Legolas began to nibble at his lower lip as he so often did when he was nervous.

“So you have finally spoken about the events of the past week?”

Legolas blushed fiercely, and no word would through his lips. No, actually they have not spoken much – at least not with words.

After a moment of taut silence he simply nodded, saying quietly, “Aye, we have. Sort of, at least?” All the insecurity was back suddenly and Legolas didn’t have the strength to fight against it, even if he wanted to deep inside.

For now the answer was sufficient, but it still didn’t make entirely sense – but at last Galion took pity on the young elf, whose unease was visibly spread across the handsome face. “Well, Legolas,” he began, placing a hand onto his friend’s shoulder and meeting his gaze. “Those braids are an ancient tradition among the Sindarin elves, possibly something your father has seen and learnt in Doriath, where he spent his youth. There are many different styles of braids, each with a different meaning.”

In response Legolas raised an eyebrow, just like his father often did. “How would you know?” he asked finally.

“Various sorts of books exist, Legolas.” Galion laughed as his gaze fell onto the heavy tome named _‘The art of love,’_ which Legolas was carrying back to his rooms. Upon that comment the prince only blushed more. “But apart from the books, I have dwelt many years on Arda’s soil and I have spoken to many elves in my life. Your father and also your grandfather among them. As you might have noticed, the Silvan elves have adapted some Sindarin styles and customs over the centuries, those braiding techniques among them.”

Galion had a valid point here – most of the elves in his father’s kingdom wore their hair in braids, but it has never dawned to Legolas that they had any meaning; he had always thought they chose it randomly.

“There are braids for weddings, for funerals, for war – those, however…” Galion said in a mysterious voice before he took one of the intricate braids between his fingers again, “are courtship braids.”

“Courtship braids?” Legolas’ eyes grew wider than they have ever been. Hardly! Galion must be certainly be mistaken in his assumption. Nothing made any sense, and the prince struggled for words.

A reassuring smile tugged on Galion’s lips as he began to explain calmly, “Aye – the very reason why I said what I did, and why I do not quite believe you saying your father has made those. So Legolas – whom have you spent the night with? Whom are you giving false hopes when your heart still yearns for what you cannot have?”

Thranduil’s exact words have been: ‘Nobody must ever know.’ Now they echoed through the young elf’s head and he was clearly at a loss.

A moment of taught silence passed. Galion’s soft eyes lay upon him when he began to play with his fingers – the treacherous behavior didn’t go unnoticed even if Legolas thought it would. “Do you promise me that you will keep this secret?” he inquired. Legolas trusted Galion like no other, but this was a different matter entirely, something that did not only concern him but also his father. The king.

“Of course, Legolas,” Galion said, furrowing his brow. The young prince sounded as if he would reveal the most hidden secret of the kingdom. “Have I ever failed you?”

“No.” He shook his head. “But really? You have to promise me!” he demanded, and for a moment he was perfectly mimicking his father’s voice and demeanor. Apart from the shaking hands.

“Yes, absolutely Legolas,” he promised. “Not a single word will cross my lips.”

“Well...” the young elf began, searching for the words he wished to say. “You know what happened two days ago on the corridors, right?”

Galion simply nodded; he wouldn’t forget that image as long as he lived. Several times he had tried to free his mind, his very thoughts of it – but no matter how hard he tried it wouldn’t leave. Alluring and breathtakingly beautiful despite the illicitness of it.

“It has not stopped there,” Legolas admitted, his voice nothing more as a whisper, as if he was afraid somebody might overhear what he had to confess. It was impossibly hard to phrase everything that occupied his mind. How should he ever find the right words? How should he tell his friend that he and Thranduil had spent the night together? Several nights! His face felt burning red by now.

“What do you mean by 'it has not stopped'?”

“I... I mean... we have spent… “ Legolas was at a loss. He hardly could say ‘we fucked thrice until I couldn’t walk,' could he?

Galion sighed heavily – the answer was clearly displayed in Legolas’ eyes when he thought of what they'd done in the privacy of the king’s chambers. Longing, lust and devotion flickered through the blue eyes, which were suddenly a little darker than they had been before. “Spent the night together in a romantic way?” he offered.

“Aye.” Legolas nodded with a weak smile. “And the morning and the night after, too.” Now, as all the divine images rushed through his head he couldn’t hold back his excitement and happiness any more. “Galion, it was wonderful!” he squeaked with a radiant smile before he flung his arms around his friend’s neck.

“Is wonderful,” Galion corrected him, upon which Legolas’ smile only widened.

Legolas’ voice cracked, as he didn’t know what to say first, afraid he might forget some important parts. “Thank you so much for all the support you have given me in the past months. Thank you for not telling my father about the Beltaine preparations, about anything. I love you.”

A hearty laugh escaped the auburn-haired elf upon such a confession. “Hush now and save those endearments for the one who you truly love. It might sound odd, and you will possibly never hear it again from anybody else, but: I wish you all the best in your forbidden relationship, and I dearly hope you will both find happiness and comfort in each other’s arms. There might be a time when nothing else will be left.”

Galion’s words sounded like a foreboding of doom, something the young elf certainly did not wish to hear in all his happiness.

“Hannon le, Galion,” he said politely with a genuine smile, and he meant what he said. His father’s butler had been his constant support when he had been in despair.

“You are welcome, Legolas. If you should ever feel the need to talk, you know where to find me,” the auburn-haired elf said before he bade the prince his farewell, turning around in the direction of the door. As he stood in front of wooden entrance, he paused and turned around once more.

Was it wise to say the words? He didn’t himself didn't know, yet he felt obligated to do so – there was no other who would ever say them. “Legolas? Remember: Not every love is sweet and kind. Sometimes it is dangerous. Poisonous, addictive and obsessive even. It might leave emotional, mental and physical scars. I do not wish to scare you nor to trouble your mind – but I deemed it necessary. Have a wonderful day,” he added before he finally slipped through the door.

Legolas’ eyes widened upon his friend’s words, even if he didn’t understand them to their full extent. Nor could he explain why Galion had said them. His and Thranduil's love was so pure, so innocent and sweet, so far away from being poisonous – even if Galion had a valid point with ‘dangerous.’ He shook his head to shoo the words away to the back of his mind, focusing on the last part: _‘This I will,’_ he responded silently, long after the door has fallen shut. But Galion had always been a sort of mystery to him; he could never entirely decipher his facial expressions, no matter how hard he tried.

 

*****

There was not much he needed, Legolas decided. A clean pair of leggings, a fresh tunic and some other personal belonging were entirely sufficient. He missed his father already, terribly so. With quick movements he gathered his belongings and left, kicking the door shut in a very unprincely manner. With a radiant smile on his lips he hurried towards his father’s chambers, his footsteps clumsy now in his haste and his heart ponding violently in his chest; he imagined his father eagerly awaiting his return. Even if only for brief moments, worries mingled with the anticipation once again.

_‘Do not be ridiculous,’_ he told himself, but it was easier said than done. An exaggerated sigh left his lips when he stood right before the massive wooden door that lead to the king’s private quarters. Legolas felt as if he would burst inside! His fingers were trembling, his breath hitching – he was indeed nervous when he placed a soft knock on the door.

“Come in, the door is open!” he heard his father say in the most affectionate way, and he wondered how Thranduil knew that it was him. However, the words sounded like a whisper, muffled through the thick wood. Soundlessly he slipped inside and closed the door securely behind him.

 

*

“Welcome back,” Thranduil added as soon as the door fell shut behind Legolas. He still lay on the massive chaise longue – the area around the marble hearth in front of the windows was by far his favorite place in his entire chambers. It always had been. Legolas knew where he could find him once he had stepped inside, his entire body tingling in anticipation.

“Are you hiding from me?” he asked with a laugh, mainly to downplay his nervousness. Galion’s words were still echoing in his mind, and he hoped he would be able to voice them in front of his lover.

“No,” stated Thranduil with a responding laugh. “And even if I tried, I fear you would find me still.”

“Possibly,” Legolas commented as he walked through the dining room towards Thranduil, closing the door that led to the lounge room behind him.

Involuntarily, his mouth gaped ajar when his gaze came to rest on his lover; his lips curled in a heart-warming smile, his eyes expectantly resting upon Legolas, highlighted by the matching color of his robes.

_‘Oh by the Valar .. you are so beautiful,’_ he mused in silence, struggling not to forget about everything he desired answers for. Carefully he stepped closer.

“Wine?” inquired Thranduil, gesturing towards Legolas to join him where he lay. His hair was loose, fanned out over the velvet pillows. Once again, he looked like an otherworldly god.

“No thank you,” Legolas replied politely. The day was still young, and in contrast to his father he wasn’t used to drinking at all. Instead he sat down at the edge of the divan, wondering how to phrase what occupied his mind.

The king’s smile was generous when his hand wandered towards his lover’s back. “Have you met somebody?” he asked in a calm voice.

“Well, nobody specifically or of great interest,” Legolas lied, hoping that his father wouldn’t see through it. Still he felt his voice wavering – not much, but he could curse himself for it. “But oddly, and much to my surprise, I received some congratulations and looks of disappointment on my way back. I am curious, as I do not look any different than usual, nor do I have a visible passion mark or anything of that sort. Actually, the only thing which is different today is my hair… So I was wondering if you could offer me an explanation?”

“Well,” Thranduil began. He had not expected something like this to happen, and even felt a rush of guilt washing over him. Carefully he sat up and placed his hands on Legolas’ shoulders. “You are right – the hair is the riddle to the answers you seek. Forgive me. We cannot show our love openly, but in all my excitement this morning I wished to express just how much I love you, cherish you. In a foolish and inconsiderate act I weaved courtship braids into your hair,” he explained, confirming Galion’s words, and it was as if his voice was filled with regret. Legolas turned around to meet his Sire’s gaze but remained quiet, giving him the opportunity to continue. “Actually it is the combination of the braids and the patterns which determines their meaning. The origin of this tradition was Thingol’s court in the Kingdom of Doriath, which has long diminished. Over the years, the Silvan elves under your grandfather’s kingship adapted the custom, and so did I. Pardon me if my wits left me this morning.”

Not often had his father talked about his youth in the ancient kingdom, and Legolas was eager to learn more, yet right now was certainly not the right time for it.

“No, please. Do not apologize for it,” Legolas tried, but Thranduil still looked apologetic, and to some extent Legolas felt sorry for having said the words. “They are beyond beautiful, only... could you not have told me?”

An almost inaudible sigh of relief left the king’s lips. “I thought you might object,” Thranduil said, but finally the smile came back. “But yes. I should have.”

“Stop being ridiculous, Ada,” Legolas muttered with mild bemusement.“I never would. It is quite the contrary, and I will wear them proudly - today and any day hereafter. Ge melin.”

“As do I... so much that coherence seems to fail me,” he whispered urgently against Legolas neck before he pulled him close, burying his face in the crook of his neck.

 

~~

 

**To avoid confusion and make it easier for my readers to imagine Thranduil's quarters I drew them :)**


	2. Gems of Starlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Legolas finally finds what he had been searching for for a few days whilst his father finally has to fulfil his regal duties again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **[Beta]** <3 Thank you so much again, [OohLaGalion](http://archiveofourown.org/users/OohLaGalion/pseuds/OohLaGalion), for beta-reading this chapter <3 I hope this chapter was sort of a early birthday present ;)
> 
>  **Tags for this chapter:** masturbation, dildos, explicit sexual content, explicit language, clothed top naked bottom, roughish sex, blow jobs  
>   
>  **OCs that make a first appearance in this chapter:**  
>  ***Fergil (Beech Star)** = The Captain of the Guard, male, of Noldorin origin  
>  ***Belecthir (Great Countenance)** = Thranduil’s chief advisor, of Sindarin origin  
>  ***Aerlas (Holy Leaf)** = male advisor, of Silvan origin  
>  ***Caleth (light, radiant)** = female advisor, of Silvan origin  
>  ***Gonodír (accountant)** = Master of coin, male, of Silvan origin  
>  ***Nileth (Friendly woman)** = one of the kitchen maids, of Silvan origin

 

**Gems of Starlight**

*****

**A few days later**

*

Midnight had long passed when they finally called it a night after spending blissful hours filled with whispered words of adoration and silent screams of passion between the Elvenking’s silken sheets. Despite his physical exhaustion, Legolas was, a little to Thranduil’s surprise, rather demanding that night – he couldn’t find any sleep, for which he blamed mostly his disrupted sleeping schedule. He would often stay up late into the night as his regal duties usually demanded many hours of this time, and the hours of the day did not seem to be long enough to complete all the tasks that rested on his shoulders.

Legolas, however, was already wandering the realms of dreams; in fact, he had passed out only a few moments after they had finished what they were doing. Thranduil’s now even heartbeat and his alluring scent had lulled him into a most pleasant slumber, as it often did these days. He relaxed noticeably in Thranduil’s arms and snuggled even closer against the warm body, mumbling some incoherent words in his sleep.

 _“_ Losto vae, Legolas,” _(Sleep well)_ Thranduil whispered against the top of his son’s head. All the candles have long burnt down, and nothing apart from their even breathing interrupted the peaceful silence – but still sleep wouldn’t come to him that night. With a dreamy smile on his lips Thranduil blinked into the darkness, lying on his back, his head deeply sunken into the silken pillows, and allowed his thoughts to roam freely.

Parts of his mind still couldn’t quite believe that this was truly happening, and he was still surprised how easily he had embraced their new relationship. Usually it took many years until his icy demeanor would finally melt, until he would speak of affection, and even longer to speak of love – but this was exactly how he felt, the unmistakable warmth of love spreading throughout his entire body. Whole again. Complete. Even if it indeed sounded pathetic, it was as if his young child was a missing piece of his soul. Where he had expected nightmares and dreadful forebodings to occur in the darkest hours of the night, serving as punishment for his illicit deeds, his sleep was graced by the most pleasant dreams ever since their confessions a few days ago. Where he expected utter repulsion, all he had found was a gentle warmth that constantly rushed through him. Day and night, night and day – even more so when they were separated for a few hours.

With these beautiful thoughts slumber finally descended upon him.

 

*****

Thranduil was not entirely certain what exactly awoke him – possibly nothing extraordinarily but a result from his awkward sleeping schedule. The sky outside was only just lightening, he noticed, the sun’s soft light not yet breaking over the horizon, over his enchanted forest that lay like the green sea before his halls. The candles from last night had long burnt down, but he could still see every curve of his lover’s fair face in the twilight of the morning. Legolas breathing was soft and even, one of his arms still splayed on his chest; it seemed as if he hadn’t moved a single inch.

 _‘I could watch you forever,’_ Thranduil mused in silence as his gaze wandered from his chest over his lover’s nude body. _‘Listen to your breathing, to your mumbled words of adoration.’_ Carefully he brushed a strand of golden hair out of his son’s face before he sunk down into the pillows again. Momentarily he was tempted to wake him, but after last night the young elf had certainly earned his recreational slumber.

~

A soft breeze danced over Legolas’ back when he finally awoke. As much as he used to hate the mornings, they seemed to become his favorite time of day and a sweet routine has established between them. The tranquility of his lover’s bedchamber was solely interrupted by the sound of chirping birds and rustling leaves finding their way through the open window. Legolas blinked, once, twice until his eyes had adjusted to the sunlight that was already streaming softly inside. At this our of the day, it was as if his lover was his and his alone, utterly beautiful in the early morning light.

In addition to the birds, his father’s soft voice stirred him from his slumber. “Good morning, my love,” Thranduil said the as he covered his lover’s warm skin with tiny kisses against his neck, inhaling deeply to catch the intoxicating scent of Legolas’ hair and skin.

“I hope you had a most pleasant slumber,” responded Legolas with a dreamy smile – he was still lingering between sleep and awake. He could feel the smoothness of his lover’s ivory skin, the warmth that radiated from it as his fingertips carefully danced along Thranduil’s chest.

Apparently his mere existence was enough to earn him the dazzling smile that had begun to form on his father’s lips, and all he could do was to quirk his lips back at him, mesmerized by the bewitching stare. Life was good these days – not even in his wildest dreams had he thought anything like this could ever happen, and still every time the realization hit him he felt like he could cry out of pure joy and gratitude.

“Aye,” Thranduil whispered in his silvery voice, which his son had once called his ‘bed-room voice.'

“Most pleasant indeed.” There was no need to mention that he'd been awake for many hours, Thranduil decided – he had made that mistake once; Legolas had been heart-broken that he hadn’t woken him, and after all, his slumber had been utterly pleasant, though short.

Absently, Legolas began to play with a strand of his tangled hair, shifting even closer until his lips could reach the faint remains of the passion mark he had left behind some days ago.

Thranduil was no stranger to compliments, but hearing them from his young son was something entirely different and the words never failed in their effect; his smile grew even wider when Legolas spoke. “You are so beautiful,” the young elf whispered fondly as he watched him, mesmerized and with a dreamy smile. Never would he tire of waking up at his father’s side, being greeted by his handsome face as soon as slumber left him, feeling his exploring lips and fingers against his skin shortly after.

Adoration was audible in every word his father said. “Hannon le.” And after that, soft lips sealed his own. Lazy. Affectionate. Divine. Skin against skin until his eyes fell shut.

A tingling heat began to form in his loins all over again, and soon said heat spread, filling his cock with blood. Legolas couldn’t explain it – not even a few hours after he got laid in the most wonderful way possible, but he wished it to happen again. Or something else they might try. Exactly it didn’t matter, as long as it happened at all! Automatically, he shifted his position again until he lay more or less on top of him.

“As much as I wish to stay in this bed forever with you, for once I cannot. In fact I have neglected my regal duties too long already.” Thranduil was saying with reluctance when Legolas’ lips became bold and bolder, trailing downwards into a very distinct direction.

As expected, his son did not wish to hear any of it.

“Ada,” he mumbled as he swung his leg over his lover’s chest, coming to sit astride of him. Carefully he shifted his positions until his chin was resting on his father’s navel. “A few more minutes? Please?” he breathed in the most seductive voice he was able to muster, adding an irresistible look through half-lidded eyes. Thranduil was lost already – and he knew it.

 _‘LEGOLAS!’_ he wished to scream but no word would leave his bruised lips; the young elf seemed insatiable in his need, and he was once more tempted to forget about his regal duties. Why – oh why had he scheduled the council meeting so early in the morning? Thranduil asked himself, ignoring the fact that it actually wasn’t **_THAT_** early anymore.

How on Arda could he say ever say ‘no’ with temptation incarnate sitting on top of him: Legolas’ blond hair cascading down his shoulders; his gaze keen and expectant, almost hungry; the golden skin shimmering in the rays of the sun. Usually he was strong-willed, his mind everything but easily corrupted, but Legolas seemed to have natural talent of bewitching his very soul. Hard – it was painfully hard to say ‘no,’ especially when something began to stir inside him again.

“No…” he finally managed to choke out. It was no more than a weak and futile attempt to bring his son back to reason as the strength of denial seemed completely lost on him.

Legolas’ expression changed to a mix of disappointment and confusion in an instant; aye he knew his father had to rule the kingdom, that it was his duty to hold dull council meetings with boring advisors, taking care of correspondences with other realms. Still – he desired his full attention for himself, especially as his mind was already infected with naughtiness. Legolas knew that Thranduil was not overly fond of those meetings, but his sense of duty was strong. Usually. Today, however, Legolas was not so certain – the wavering of his lover’s voice didn’t go unnoticed.

“Please, Ada.” Legolas breathed, allowing his fingertips to brush ‘accidently’ against the already hard nipples, knowing all too well what an effect this caress had. “Just a few minutes. I know you want me to.”

In his wicked mind something else began to form, something he had thought about repeatedly the past days, and he decided that this would be his back-up plan if his lover would deny him right now. (Even if he doubted it, Thranduil’s darkened eyes spoke volumes.)

Seductively the young elf licked his lips before he lowered his head a little further down, wrapping his rosy lips around the head of the hard erection until the other arched his back against the silken sheets.

 _‘Oh by all the gods!’_ Thranduil inhaled sharply and allowed his eyes to fall shut when he felt his lover’s tongue swoosh across the slit, eliciting a tingling sensation in his stomach. It was divine and he was close, so very close to forgetting about his advisors, the council meeting and everything else that required his attention. Family came first – now he nearly chocked upon the ambiguity of those words.

“Legolas …” as he spoke he simultaneously shook his head against the pillows. “I said ‘no’ and I meant it, even if you try hard to convert my words into a yes.”

The young elf gave him a pointed look, but for once he obeyed and let the hard cock slip out of his mouth in an instant. “Forgive me,” he lied. Truth to be told he was not even a little sorry; still he withdrew his hands from his lover’s smooth skin, followed by his body, allowing his father to leave the bed.

“You seem to be insatiable,” Thranduil muttered and with a sly grin. Legolas observed the bobbing erection between his father’s legs when he rose to his feet.

“And that from **_YOUR_** lips,” he chuckled – they had both been equally insatiable these past days as it seemed.

“Know your place you insolent brat,” Thranduil said with a hearty laugh, as he finally stepped into the bathroom to get himself clean and ready for the council meeting. Oh how he wished he did not have to, but he also knew he couldn’t neglect his kingly duties forever, especially as such a behavior was completely out of the ordinary for him. And out of the ordinary would certainly raise suspicions, he thought as warm water tickled down his heated skin. Mirkwood’s king was known for his strong sense of duty, his accuracy and wits. He was never late, nor would he excuse himself from any meeting, regardless of how boring the matter seemed to others; he was precise and accurate, annoyingly so. Being even a few minutes late would be out of character for the proud king.

 _‘Nay’_ he said in silence as his eyes fell close once more. Suspicion and arising gossip were definitely the last things they needed – they had to be careful already.

Legolas couldn’t resist the temptation to take a look into the bathroom. Thranduil was glorious in his nudity, droplets of water tickling down from the long tresses over his shoulders and his back, disappearing between his firm buttocks. The young elf cursed silently. No, he shouldn’t have let him leave the silken sheets; he should have finished what he had started, as he wasn’t certain if his plan would work in the end, but he was relieved that his lover hadn’t decided to seek release under the shower.

Soundlessly, Legolas slipped out of the impressive bathroom again and lay down on the ruffled sheets, pondering his thoughts about how exactly to proceed with what occupied his mind.

His lover was a dangerous creature. His tantrums were legendary, even if he personally had never been the focus of them; his father had always been nothing but kind to him. Still, ‘no’ usually indeed meant _‘no,’_ and consequences were certainly to follow if he decided to ignore the command once more.

Legolas would gladly accept every consequence that existed in his father’s realm; his mind was already utterly corrupted. In silence he wondered what on earth was taking the other so long in the bathroom. Actually he was torn – he wished to rush right into his lover’s arms as soon as the water stopped gushing from the walls, but he refrained. For once he had to be patient! This was hard enough for the young elf, who was anything but patient. He rolled from one side to the other, rose from the bed again and looked out of the window only to jump into the countless pillows again, eagerly awaiting the click of the door that lead to the impressive dressing room.

“Maybe I can be of help?” Legolas cooed, even though he saw that Thranduil was already fully dressed for the council meeting. Lavish jewelry adorned his perfect fingers, an intricate brooch decorated the heavy brocade robe, which was shimmering in the darkest emerald tones, and a matching belt was placed around his hips.

Once, many weeks ago, Legolas had had a wicked fantasy of pleasuring his father beneath the massive table after some boring council meeting, finding out that he didn’t wear anything **_AT ALL_** beneath the heavy robes – was it actually true?

Was it?

WAS IT?

Legolas had to bite his tongue not to burst out into roaring laughter when Belecthir’s stern face and horror stricken expression began to form before his inner eyes.

“I fear you cannot,” responded Thranduil as he placed his stately circlet on top of his head.

 _‘Oh, even better,’_ his lover thought thought to himself before he mumbled aloud, his smile becoming mischievous all of a sudden: “I would be not so certain.” Legolas couldn’t explain it himself, but he'd been harboring a strange fascination with all those kingly insignia for a few months now. Was it the thrill of power, the visible demonstration of authority? He didn’t have a sufficient answer, but he for some odd reason he was immediately turned on.

His thoughts were running amok, and he felt his cock stir beneath the thin nightshirt he had thrown over his naked body to at least cover his nudity a little.

Had his father noticed or not? It mattered not! Now or never; otherwise the opportunity would be gone, forever. He had to act. Quickly.

He took a quick step towards his father and placed both of his hands against his shoulders, pushing him backwards against the stone wall before Thranduil had even the chance to react or speak.

Legolas kept his eyes on his lover’s as he slowly lowered himself, falling to his knees before him.

Thranduil’s shining eyes grew wide as he stared down in disbelief. What kind of naughty creature had he raised? He could hardly believe that this was happening, couldn’t explain where the sudden boldness came from – after all it was his youngest son, his innocent child! “Legolas… what do you think you are doing?” he inquired, furrowing his eyebrows.

 _‘Isn’t it obvious, my dearest father?’_ he thought to himself. “Making certain that you won’t stay away for too long,” Legolas said, mimicking his father’s facial expression and his voice, which earned him a jesting look of disapproval. But Thranduil's defenses were already swaying, corrupted by Legolas’ coy stare, by the skilled hands that slipped beneath his robes.

“Legolas... we cannot.”

“Of course you can! After all, you are the king!” The young elf didn't know who had planted those words in his head; they were there all of a sudden, spilling freely from his lips.

His son had a valid point, Thranduil had to admit. The council meeting would certainly not start until he was present. He had lost his internal battle already.

Hastily the elf on his knees began pushed the heavy robes aside and began to undo the lacings of his father’s breeches; much to his disappointment he wore something underneath. A flash of triumph rushed through him as he caught his lover’s gaze – Thranduil had finally lost his internal struggle and was giving in. Legolas could have squealed in delight, whereas Thranduil’s stomach churned and his throat tightened. But the king nodded quietly, giving his consent in silence, and not a moment later his rock-hard cock sprang from his breeches. “Just make sure you won’t take for ages.” It wasn’t wise, what they were doing, but he couldn’t find the strength to resist Legolas’ advances anymore.

“That depends much on you.” Legolas breathed tantalizingly against the tip of the wet erection and the soft air elicited a visible shiver in his lover. Well, actually, it was mainly dependent on his performance, but he decided to ignore that little detail as in his mind the naughty image of his beloved shamelessly fucking his mouth was already beginning to form.

He had never dared to speak his darkest dream aloud – and he wasn’t sure if he could – but maybe with a little subtlety he could push his lover in the right direction? He could try at least – again. In fact, Legolas had tried to provoke exactly this: Thranduil grabbing a fistful of his hair and shoving his cock down his mouth until he had to gasp for air, just as he had done with the captain of the guard that fateful winter night. However, until now, his father had never acted accordingly and had ignored his silent request. A fierce blush was the instant reward for his inappropriate thoughts, but he couldn’t erase them – he never could.

Legolas stretched his delicate hands forward and gave the erection a gentle and somewhat hesitant squeeze; now he was not feeling so bold anymore.

 _‘Oh, meleth-nîn,’_ Thranduil thought with a smile as he met his son’s eyes. _‘You are perfect, amazing – so much more than I ever deserved.’_ The other’s innocence was palpable; where he had been wicked and demanding only moments ago, he now was shy and hesitant once more. Utterly, charmingly so. He shifted his feet in front of him to adjust his position against the wall – actually he couldn’t recall when he had last been pinned against something. It must have been many centuries ago.

In the meantime, Legolas curled his fingers around the erection, tenderly stroking the base of it as his tongue wandered along the prominent vein, up and down. Up and down again, before he wrapped his tempting lips around it. Thranduil drew in a deep breath as his eyes shifted between the slim fingers that caressed his sac and the parted lips that were spread wide around him. Rather often had he had the pleasure the past days as his young lover seemed to harbor a strange fascination with exactly this, but it had always happened in his bed, both of them naked. Now, that Legolas was obediently on his knees right before him and he was already completely dressed certainly added to his excitement.

He didn’t have time this morning – he was already late – but Legolas had decided to set a torturous, slow pace, sticking his wicked tongue out and licking along the slit and the head until everything was coated in a thin layer of saliva.

Maybe,Thranduil thought absently, they could explore this scenario a little bit further in a few months; now it was certainly too early for such filthy ideas. (Still, they occupied his head and would most certainly never leave entirely.)

Meanwhile Legolas’ tongue flicked along his cock before he trailed lower, licking his sac until Thranduil’s body jerked in surprise; he both hated and loved him for torturing him so in this very moment, and he hated himself all the more for not scheduling the meeting for a later hour. Legolas tried to keep his mind focused; he teased and caressed, cursing his lover repeatedly for not falling into the trap he had made up in his mind.

 _‘Worship’_ Thranduil didn’t have another word for what the young elf on his knees was doing. Deliberately slowly he licked all the way up and down the cock, going over the head with his lips, sucking so lightly that it was maddening. His hips twitched, but he restrained the urge to roll them against the tempting mouth.

 

From time to time Legolas peeked up through his long lashes, scanning the other’s face for any signs he could possibly use for his wicked plan – but there were none. Carefully, he kissed and licked Thranduil’s frenulum until a string of encouraging moans filled his ears.

Oh how Thranduil cursed the god-forsaken council meeting.

 

“Meleth, stop being such a tease.” Legolas heard his father’s cracking voice muffled by the heavy breathing that filled the room. Aye, he **_WAS_** teasing him but only to provoke the reaction he so desired.

A smile graced his lips when his lover’s hands finally weaved into his hair, tenderly stroking the back of his head.

 _‘YES’_ – this was exactly what he had wished for, but Thranduil still hesitated to hold him down, to catch a fistful of his golden hair, to make him swallow what was his to take. Legolas couldn’t help but shudder at his own filthy thoughts; by now he was hard, ready to come right here and now. Carefully, and much to Legolas’ disappointment, Thranduil ruffled through his hair, brushed his thumb over the prominent cheekbones. Soon his hair was a tousled mess but apart from that nothing ever happened. He sucked and swallowed, engulfed the entire length at once, stealing a pleading upward glance.

For the blink of an eye, Thranduil wished it wasn’t his son’s mouth around his cock, as it was just impossibly hard to hold back the instinct to thrust into the divine heat, to roll his hips until the other coughed and gagged around his thick erection _._

 _‘I cannot, I must not - NEVER’_ Aye, he was certainly misinterpreting the pleading expression in his lover’s eyes – Legolas certainly was not asking for what seemed to be visible there. Still, the sinful images of the reverie he had once had began to occupy his mind.

His wicked son on his knees before him whilst he was sitting in his throne, those bruised lips wrapped around his cock, his own hands buried in the golden strands, holding him down until he gagged and coughed – nearly lost consciousness, even. For seconds his eyes fluttered closed as he was overwhelmed by the sinful thoughts.

Thranduil glanced down again.

_‘Oh Valar send help.’_

Legolas’ lips looked so erotic stretched around the base of his cock, his jaw so wide that his teeth did not touch the tender flesh and his tongue flat against the back of it. The grip he had on the back of his lover’s head tightened, but he didn’t hold him down, nor did he restrict his motions. Pearls of saliva shone on the wet lips, dripping from the corner of his mouth.

Oh he was close, so very close already – even more so when his lover gave the cock a hard suck.

"Legolas, look at me." There was an edge of command in the king’s voice, and Legolas followed the demand immediately; after all, many years of training in the guard certainly left their mark. A nod of appreciation was the instant reward, even if the rest of his lover’s body was a quivering mess against the wall. He couldn’t refrain from mimicking the nod, swallowing the entire length. Simultaneously, he hummed around the thick cock in his mouth until he almost gagged, but he tried to hold it back, giving the cock another hard suck.

Legolas had only a second of warning; he felt the pulse of the vein of his lover’s cock beneath his tongue, and not a moment later the warm and salty taste of cum filled his mouth. With his eyes obediently directed upwards he kept licking and sucking, moving up and down his father’s cock until the spasms of his body ceased.

Tantalizingly slowly, Legolas allowed his tongue to wander along the now softening cock until the wet and sticky length finally slipped from his mouth with an audible sound.

With utter affection, Thranduil brushed a strand of golden hair out of his son’s burning face.

“I hope you liked it,” Legolas cooed whilst he licked his lips clean, but his words were cut off abruptly as his father’s long fingers grabbed a fistful of his tunic, lifting him up and reversing their position. Now it was Legolas who was pinned against the cold stones. Involuntarily, the young elf began to tremble.

“Do I really need to tell you?” Thranduil whispered, his voice sharp and dangerous like the edge of a knife. Fear trickled through Legolas; he was still catching his breath, entirely surprised by the fierce reaction, especially as Thranduil had been so tender, so loving only seconds before. No, he hadn’t expected **_THIS_** to happen and he was indeed scared, even if he knew that his father would never hurt him.

“I..,” he began to stutter his apology but was silenced with a searing kiss, which didn’t leave him any other choice than to yield. (Not that he wanted to, though.)

“You insolent little brat,” Thranduil said and bit down on his son’s lip – a little punishment was certainly appropriate. “Now I am truly late for the council meeting, feeling exhausted, my cheeks burning, my heart racing… Thank you very much indeed.” He laughed and took a step backwards, letting go of Legolas’ quivering body, a distinct wet bulge visible in his son’s leggings.

Thranduil turned around to finally leave his chambers, but hesitated after a few steps. “Oh and Legolas," he commented with a twinkle in his eyes. “Actually I have no idea what you have been searching for in my wardrobe, but you may check beneath the nightstand – there is a little notch.” It was impossibly hard for him to keep a straight face, and to some extent he pitied himself that he couldn’t see his son’s face when he would make the discovery.

Embarrassment began to creep up Legolas' cheeks; he had actually thought his father never noticed what he did whilst he was gone. Foolish, yes, now that he thought about it again, but as soon as the massive door fell shut he rushed back towards the bedchamber.

 

*

Thranduil was grateful that nobody crossed his way when he swept silently through the corridors, hurrying down towards the council chambers over endless stairways and towering bridges. His stately robes swirled against the cold stone floor; finally his heartbeat seemed to become normal again, the traitorous glow of his cheeks slowly disappearing - but the beauty of the heated encounter still lingered in his mind, and he was almost certain that he would draw on it for hours.

Usually his spoken ‘no’ meant no indeed – without any exception – but apparently his insolent lover wished to hear none of it, disregarding his requests. Anger didn’t occupy his heart, still some sort of little punishment certainly **_HAD_** to follow. He just did not know what. Everything that came to his mind was simply entirely inappropriate and totally out of question, but, after all, he had countless hours to think about this matter whilst he sat in the council meeting. Thranduil already knew the following hours would be utterly boring.

When he had almost reached his destination, two of his guards stood nearby and something entirely different crossed his mind, something he had completely forgotten about. “Please tell the captain of the guard I desire a word with him after the council meeting is over.” He said as he walked past the two armored elves.

“Of course, your grace.” Both replied in unison and bowed before him.

Legolas would be all but pleased with this, he already knew it, and if he was honest it was an utterly selfish deed.

 

*****

Thranduil was late, of course, and it was something that hadn’t occurred in many years. When he opened the door that lead to the spacious council chamber, the distant mumbling immediately ceased. Out of his five permanent advisors only four were present, accompanied by the master of coin who was responsible for all expenses in regard to his kingdom.

“Is something the matter?” he asked calmly, but an icy note accompanied his voice as he walked towards the empty seat at his place at the round table.

They shook their heads in unison, and his gaze wandered from one to the other, scanning their faces for any treacherous thoughts and assumptions.

“Good,” he said as he opened the heavy book that lay before him. “So, let us see what is on today’s agenda.”

Belecthir, the silver-haired chief advisor who held this position since Oropher’s regency, was the first to raise his voice. “Many things,” he began, skimming through the parchment that lay in front of him. “Some need immediate attention, whilst others can certainly wait.”

 _‘Oh I fear this will take ages’_ the King silently said to himself, but he nodded towards his chief advisor, telling him that he should continue to speak.

“Lorien asks if we would participate in the exchange of young soldiers for training again,” Belecthir explained in a calm voice. He was a wise man, trusted and equally feared by many. Utterly loyal ever since he had been granted this position under Oropher’s regency. “They demand an answer rather soon.”

A few days ago this topic would have certainly peaked the king’s interest, as the young Galadhrim were exactly what he desired from time from time; as much as he disliked the lady of Lorien, he did love her young warriors. Still, things had changed this past week. Where he once would have already been scheming, now now was only listening with indifference.

The only female elf present nodded her head eagerly upon every word Belecthir said. “Certainly we should – we also would profit…” Caleth commented, her gaze switching back and forth between the king and the silvery haired elf.

“And how should we pay for it?” Gonodír snarled, interrupting the woman’s words but certainly addressing Belecthir. “We cannot accommodate them in the old talans near the training fields because they are under renovation.”

“If I recall correctly, **_YOU_** are the master of coin, not I,” Belecthir responded. “So you should find a solution.”

Everything was as usual, Thranduil thought to himself. His usually stoic advisors developed quite a temper at times, particularly where money was involved.

Soon a heated argument developed between the two, and Thranduil couldn’t help but roll his eyes inwardly. There wouldn’t be a solution this day nor any other day in the near future. Plans had to be made for the construction of new provisory talans; costs would need to be calculated beforehand, and many other things needed to be taken care of. Whether he wanted or not, he was already bored, and his mind began to drift off.

Words and elvish curses flew across the room, but he did not, could not listen anymore; his mind returned constantly to his lover and the wooden casket Legolas would certainly have found by now.

Involuntarily, images of Legolas on his knees before him began to occupy his mind once again; somehow this fantasy seemed to hunt him until the end of the world. Oh how he wished he could use that tempting mouth over and over again, make him gag on his cock, make him swallow everything until the head brushed against the back of his lover’s throat. Despite the constant voices in the distance all he heard were the sinful sounds of constant sucking and coughing. Over and over again until his entire body jerked when his climax drew near, until his seed spurted down his son’s throat, and he obediently swallowed every droplet. But there was something else, something he had never tried before; he wasn’t even certain if he possessed the gift to such an extent – but what was there to lose, after all? With a mischievous grin, he focused his thoughts on an image of himself, an utterly sinful and alluring image. Naked as the day he was born, half-lying, half-sitting on his bed, his silvery hair fanned out over the velvet pillows like a halo, his eyes closed in bliss. Carefully, he reached beneath his spread legs and began to pleasure himself with a delicately crafted plug, arching his back in delight. Possibly it was not the wisest thing to do amidst several other people who were not dumb, but he couldn’t help himself anymore, even if it meant that something stirred within his breeches.

 _‘Try to synchronize the pace of your hands’_ he said in silence, giving his cock a few languid strokes in the mental image.

 _‘Aye, like this.’_ He nodded in appreciation.

Simultaneously the perfect punishment for his insolent child occurred; oh he would make certain that Legolas had to sit through the following meeting, long hours of boredom.

When his reverie was finished his cheeks were glooming scarlet, his hair a tangled mess – debauched and utterly spent.

“Your grace?” It was Aerlas’ voice that tore him out of his musings; he couldn’t tell how long he had dreamt, tried to send his lover sinful imaginations with eyes open. “Are you not feeling very well?”

“I am feeling well,” Thranduil lied to some extent; he felt well but incredibly hot beneath the heavy brocade that caressed his form, even though it was pleasantly cool in the council chamber. And he was hard again, painfully so, with no possibility of escaping his misery any time too soon.

“Very well,” Aerlas responded with a nod. “Then I can assume that we can proceed with the daily agenda?”

The king simply gave a small nod.

For the next hour they made lists and planned the upcoming feast for the summer solstice; words and figures were smoothly set into place until Thranduil felt all was said between them for today. Of course there were other topics on the agenda, but nothing of utter importance.

“I assume we are done for today?” he asked rhetorically. Oh, how he wished he was already done with everything, and again he cursed himself for having summoned the captain of the guard for another meeting.

“I think nothing of utter importance is on the agenda,” Belecthir said politely, sensing that his king’s mood was not the very best today. “Nothing that cannot wait for the next meeting.”

“Good,” Thranduil responded as he rose to his feet, announcing the end of the council meeting. “You will have to excuse me.”

 

~

Fergil had already waited for a while in front of the council chambers near the public library. From time to time he would join the advisors when expenses for weaponry were due or when he wished to recruit some new soldiers, but he avoided participating as often as possible. Those meetings were an extraordinarily dull affair, he thought. He was a soldier and not a scholar – a man of swords rather than of words. Aye, he knew such meetings were necessary, yes – but they were boring nevertheless.

“You wished to have a word with me, your grace?” the dark-haired elf said as soon as Thranduil stepped through the massive door.

“Yes, Fergil,” Thranduil said without much ado, and Fergil couldn’t help but wonder about his king’s mood. “Thank you for finding the time. It is about Legolas. He won’t participate in the border patrols for the time being.”

Fergil raised an eyebrow. He had known Thranduil for millennia now, and he felt as if he was able to read his moods to some extent, yet he had to admit that he had utterly failed this time. He had expected many things but certainly not this. “But it is custom for all elves of the kingdom…” he said, trying to defend his point of view. No, he certainly was not amused by his king’s demand, as he was no friend of nepotism; too often had he seen where exactly such behavior could lead. “Be it prince or not.” He added, even if he knew it was not the wisest thing to say.

“Possibly,” Thranduil responded, trying to keep his calm demeanor, even if the words were an open confrontation of his position. “Still, I have decided that he should be taught in the arts of negotiation and politics for a little while, attending council meetings, speaking with the advisors in private – learning from them.”

Fergil could not help but wonder what sort of punishment this was, as the young prince certainly was no scholar either; Legolas loved archery and spending his time in the woods best, feeling the earthy ground beneath his bare feet, smelling the scent of the forest. ‘ _Why lock him up like a bird in a cage?’_ he wondered, especially as Thranduil KNEW all too well where his son’s preferences and interests lay. Fergil tried once more. “I see your point, your grace; but he would only be gone for a few months every now and then, and he could still attend those meetings you have scheduled for him.”

Thranduil’s patience finally ran thin. “When last I looked, Thranduil, not Fergil, was king of these halls,” he snapped, giving him a deadly stare that left no room for further disobedience.

Involuntarily the dark-haired elf flinched upon the verbal assault. The king’s temper was sour as it seemed, extraordinarily so. “Of course, Your Grace.” He said apologetically with a bow of courtesy, even if the decision was still not to his liking.

“Good. I think I have my point clear,” Thranduil stated, already turning around, announcing his leave. “Thank you for your time and understanding.”

When he was out of sight Thranduil shook his head upon his own stupidity – he should have known it, he simply should have. Fergil was not always easy to deal with, and he was not certain if he had not provoked something worse.

 

*****

The captain of the guard paced the armory back and forth, trying to understand his king’s request. There was nothing he could do against the given order, yet it did not make any sense. At all. And no matter how often he repeated his own words, it did not help to clarify Thranduil’s demand. “Why?” he asked aloud, but couldn’t come up with a sufficient answer. If anybody, Galion might know the true reason behind the Sinda’s actions. Fergil didn’t quite believe the king's hollow words and excuses; something else must be the true reason for his decision, of that he was certain.

“Galion, a word?” Fergil asked immediately when he found Galion near the kingdom’s public library, sitting cross-legged on a stone wall with a book in his hand.

That something troubled the dark-haired elf was written clearly on his face. “What bothers you, Fergil?” inquired Galion with a friendly and open smile.

“Our king’s behavior,” he said, not paying much attention to any possible passersby. For a moment he had thought about asking Thranduil himself when they had discussed the border patrols, but at the end he had refrained, as the mere question would have certainly sparked one of Thranduil’s infamous tantrums. He simply wasn’t in the mood to deal with it that day, even if they have often argued rather fiercely in the past. “To be honest he is acting **_‘slighly’_** awkward.”

Galion shrugged, hoping that Fergil would not see through his lie. “I haven’t noticed anything apart from the ordinary,.” he said, keeping his voice as even as possible. The young elvenprince had trusted him with his most precious secret, and he had promised to never say a word – and he NEVER would, no matter what he had to go through to keep the royal family's secret.

Fergil raised an eyebrow upon that remark, his piercing grey eyes resting expectantly upon Galion. “You HAVEN’T noticed or you have decided to turn a blind eye on it?”

Galion couldn’t deny that he felt slightly uneasy; it was as if the soldier’s stare went right through him, searching for any sign of treachery. “As I have said before – I haven’t **_NOTICED_** anything out of the ordinary but that does not mean that there is nothing out of the ordinary, Fergil. I do not have my eyes and ears everywhere, even if you assume I do.

“Because you often have...” Fergil stated, meeting the auburn-haired elf’s eyes.

“Maybe Thranduil simply had a bad day? We both know there had been plenty of those the past centuries,” responded Galion with a small sigh. He didn’t like the direction in which their conversation was going – not at all.

“Aye.” The dark-haired elf nodded, both had their very own experience with the king’s tantrums. “But still…” No, he simply couldn’t let the matter rest.

“Fergil, pardon me, but I simply do not get your point right now. What exactly bothers you? What happened today? When I last saw you and our king a few days ago, all seemed well between the two of you.”

“It still is, at least that is what I assume; but his mood was not the best when I met with him earlier.” That was odd, Galion thought in silence. Legolas had not sounded as if anything could have upset his father at all these days. “Could you explain to me then why he forbids Legolas to go to the border patrols, stating he has to be taught the arts of politics. What for? The throne will automatically pass to his eldest son, not to Legolas.”

“Hopefully neither will inherit the throne,” Galion interrupted, remembering Oropher’s death all too well. For the sake of both princes, he hoped they would never see their father perish.

“Valid point – yet still it doesn’t make sense.”

“Fergil, what are you trying to tell me? The king’s mind can be strange at times; we both know it and have experienced it more than once. It is certainly not our place to discuss and question his decisions, especially not when it comes to his remaining family.

“Something is amiss. I sense it.”

“Stop meddling in the affair of others! Nothing good will come from it. As you might recall I have said exactly this countless times before, even if you never listened. But maybe for once you will, and I will repeat it: We both do not know why Thranduil acts like he does, but it is none, absolutely NONE of our business.”

Fergil was not satisfied with the answers he obtained from Galion and he couldn’t help but think that the other **_KNEW_** something that he didn’t wish to betray. A little secret, as it seemed, in regard to the king’s son. _‘Interesting…’_ he mused in silence. _‘Interesting indeed. I wonder what the true reason for this charade is.’_

“Hannon le,” he finally said, bidding Galion his farewell. “I won’t meddle in the king’s affairs, be assured. Novaer.” (Farewell.)

The captain of the guard’s Sindarin still sounded odd, despite all the years he had lived in this realm, Galion noticed as he nodded and bid his leave. “Savo 'lass a lalaith.” (Good bye, ‘have joy and laughter.’)

 

*****

The hint his father had given him was driving him insane, and actually he was in no mood to leave the chambers, but he was very hungry this morning (no wonder, after another eventful night and another eventful morning). Aye he could easily call for a servant to bring everything he desired upstairs, but this would mean he had to get back to his own rooms first, pretending that he still lived there (which he didn’t, of course – Thranduil had been completely right in his assumption some days ago. In fact, he had not spent more than a few minutes there). The young elf decided he would simply go down to the kitchens to fetch some food on his own.

Carefully, almost like a thief, he sneaked out of his father’s chambers and rushed down the treacherous corridor, hoping that none of the guards would cross his way until he was on safe territory. A sigh of relief left his lips when he reached the main corridor of the royal quarters, the corridor which also led to his own room.

Quickly he hurried down the countless stairs that lead to the heart of his father’s halls, where the kitchens were located. Further down, the impressive wine-cellar followed. As his mood was extraordinary good this morning, he was more hopping over towering bridges entirely made out of stone than he was walking; and additionally he was in a hurry.

Just in the moment when he reached the final corridor that lead towards the kitchen, a voice startled him out of his blissful reverie.

“Legolas, wait!” Elros called from the distance, and all Legolas could do was to stop walking and turn around to face the Silvan elf that stood nearby at one of the stone pillars. “I haven’t seen you in a while,” he added, and Legolas’ gaze fell on the few bottles of wine he carried in a basket.

“Elros,” he said in response with a weak smile. Usually the king’s son was easily drawn into pleasant conversations and loved to chat the hours away; today, however, it was different. Well, the past few days had been entirely different, if he was honest with himself. “Nice to see you.” It was not the truth, but it wasn’t a lie either; at best he had wished not to meet a single soul, except maybe Galion.

“Aye,” the other said, playing nervously with a strand of his auburn hair. “I... I have missed you,” he admitted and blushed to the tips of his ears. Involuntarily, Legolas' eyes grew wide as his mind processed the words and the sight displayed before him. _‘Oh please, no,’_ the young elvenprince was not able to deal with something like this right now, nor had he expected anything of the sort. He was unprepared, still exhausted and starving to death.

“I am sorry, but I haven’t felt well recently,” Legolas lied and ignored Elros’ last remark.

“But you look extraordinarily well today.” Elros complimented him with the sweetest voice possible, accidently brushing his hand against his fingers. “The night is supposed to be lovely and pleasantly warm with lots of stars. Would you like to join me? Maybe?” he asked, nervousness audible in his voice.

Legolas was speechless for a moment – he actually liked the auburn-haired elf who was just a little older than himself, he had also liked to spend his spare-time with him every once in a while. He was partly the brother he always wished to have, his own age and with shared interests. They have spent many days together on the training fields ever since, and have shared the duty of night watches during the border patrols.

Yes, he actually **_DID_** like him, but just as a friend – nothing more, nothing else. Truth to be told Legolas had never, not even once thought that Elros could harbor romantic feelings for him. Oddly, he felt flattered and repulsed at the same time, unable to phrase what occupied his mind. Silently he cursed the lack of his braids this morning, but if he thought it through further, it only would have made things worse, as unpleasant questions were certain to follow. He was a little coward and he hated himself for being as he was. Instead, voicing his thoughts aloud, he simply said: “Pardon me, Elros, but I think I shouldn’t indulge in activities such as wandering the forest so soon.” Followed by an apologetic smile.

The look of disappointment was heartbreaking, and Legolas immediately felt sorry for his friend. “Maybe another time then?” The words were nothing more than a shy whisper.

He could hardly say _‘No, Elros – I will not because I wish to spend the night in my father’s bed to get thoroughly fucked again’_ could he? A decent blush began to grace his cheeks upon the filthy thoughts, but somehow he managed to get out a word. “Maybe.” Even if that did not solve the problem, possibly only made it worse as he was giving him false hopes.

Gods how he hated his own inability to simply say ‘No thank you, I am not interest in a romantic relationship with you.’ But advances of that sort simply put the young elf under stress – he didn’t know how to deal with it, how to respond.

“Have a good day, Elros. You have to excuse me as I am starving to death,” Legolas said politely before he disappeared through the door that led to the kitchen. The maids, however, were not any better, questioning him about this and that, things which he was not interested in at all, and again he regretted that he had set a single step outside his father’s sanctuary.

 _‘Oh Valar dear,’_ he cursed himself, _‘I should simply have sent for some food upstairs.’_ Everything took so incredibly long (which wasn’t true of course, he only felt like it because he desperately wished to get back to the king’s chambers as soon as possible, searching for the hidden stash of things).

Quickly he closed the kitchen door behind him and was instantly greeted by Nileth’s soft voice. “Legolas, my dear boy! I feel as I have not seen you in ages. How are things?”

“All is well, Nileth,” he said in response, a smile curling on his lips. Nileth, with her long braided hair and soft features, was a constant source of cheerfulness in the kingdom; always smiling, always having a kind word on her lips. More than a few said she was the good soul of his father’s halls, and Legolas could only support their claim, as she truly was. “Apart from that I feel like I am starving to death.” He laughed as his gaze fell on the delicious-looking cakes and pies standing on a nearby table.

“I assumed as much, you must have been desperate, coming all the way down from your quarters.” Her words were interrupted by countless giggles. “So what would you like to take? Some sweets? Certainly.” She automatically began to fill a basket with some fruit and syrup as she continued to talk. “Oh but you cannot live on fruit alone. How about some cheese and bread?” Without awaiting a reply she placed a loaf of bread into the basket, along with some cheese and venison; Legolas could probably feast for a month already, but she simply did not stop. “Enough, enough, Nileth,” he tried to tell her. “I am not going into the woods for a month, only to my rooms.”

“But you have to eat!” she exclaimed, looking at him skeptically. “Look at you – all skin and bones!”

 _‘You are the first to complain.’_ Still he remained quiet, and in comparison to her he must indeed look like a skeleton; she wasn’t fat, as this was entirely unheard of among the race of elves, but she certainly had more weight than the average elf in the kingdom. Not that it mattered, though; she was still extraordinarily pretty. “Yes, yes – all skin and bones,” Legolas laughed; he had heard these words from her lips for many years already, and he also knew that she only meant it well. “My body is still developing,” he said, trying to soothe her mind.

“True, Legolas. But it can only develop if you eat enough!” she exclaimed once more, handing him the basket full of food. “Enjoy it, my dear.”

“Hannon le, Nileth,” Legolas said politely, relieved that he could finally go back to his father’s quarters. After all, there were important things to discover, and the mere thought made his heart leap in joy and anticipation.

Legolas was indeed starving to death. He already ate a few berries and cheese from the basket whilst he was walking back, as he knew that once he was back his wicked mind would forget about the food in an instant.

And the young elf was completely right in his assumption; as soon as he unlocked the door to his father’s quarters he completely forgot about the tray of food in his hand, the hunger all of a sudden erased from his thoughts. With an utterly foolish grin he rushed back towards the secluded bedchamber, hiding behind the stone pillars every now and then when somebody crossed his way.

*****

A sigh of relief left his lips once he was inside the royal quarters once more, and for a few seconds he leant against the massive wooden door, allowing his eyes to fall closed to gather his thoughts and calm down just a little before he finally walked into the bedchamber.

 _‘There you might find what you have been looking for.’_ Thranduil’s words rang through his head repeatedly. Maybe he was mistaken, but it was as if a mischievous grin had accompanied every single word.

His breath hitched and his heart missed several beats when he went down onto the floor on all fours, peaking underneath the bed. In fact, Legolas still felt a little embarrassed that his father had indeed noticed his explorations, even if he himself couldn’t say WHAT exactly he had been searching for. A book? Maybe. Some delicate and rather fancy garments? Aye, most likely, as everybody knew all too well about the king’s love for delicate silks and jewelry. But apart from that? He couldn’t tell, possibly not even imagine. Carefully he extended his arm, and indeed, his index finger brushed against something that felt like carven wood.

 _‘What is it that you are hiding beneath your bed, Ada?’_ The young elf asked himself as he retrieved the wooden casket from its hiding place. Not a single speck of dust decorated the richly ornamented surface, telling him that it was rather frequently used – a fact that only sparked his curiosity further. Tiny flowers and leaves were carved into the polished wood. The casket itself was an exquisite piece of art, and he truly wondered what the exact content would be. When he tried to lift it up he was surprised by its heaviness; Thranduil did not actually hide stones beneath his nightstand, did he? But that was at least a possible explanation for its heaviness. With utter care he lifted the casket and sat down cross-legged on the bed, the box right in front of him.

Again he felt as if he was doing something forbidden, something his innocent eyes possibly shouldn’t see. Legolas drew in a deep breath and removed the lid with closed eyes, placing it aside for the moment. He truly felt as if he would burst from curiosity at any second. Slowly he opened his eyes again and he nearly fainted when his gaze fell onto the shimmering contents in his father’s wooden casket.

“Oh dear spirits send help!” It simply escaped him, and whilst he covered his mouth with his hand he thanked the heavy stone walls once again for muffling his cry of surprise. His shriek had been jarring – and loud. Absently, as if he couldn’t quite believe what his widened eyes were seeing, he blinked. Once. Twice. Then he rubbed his eyes in sheer disbelief. He had **_NEVER_** seen anything like it before, and wouldn’t if it have been for the drawing he had seen in the stolen book, he possibly wouldn’t even have known exactly ** _WHAT_** this was!

The casket was filled to the brim with toys of the special sort; differently shaped anal-plugs, some made out of glass at it seemed, some made out of shimmering metal, small ones, large and thick ones, some rather awkwardly shaped. Besides those delicately crafted objects a few silken ribbons and something he had absolutely NO idea for what the device could be possibly used rested in the casket.

Absently, Legolas shook his head in sheer disbelief. _‘Ada… I cannot quite believe it.’_ By now his face was glowing in the deepest shades of scarlet; no he had not expected to find such a filthy treasure hoard, nor had he even dared to imagine his father, his own father possessing such a collection of filth!

 _‘I truly wonder for what purpose you have them...’_ he thought, but did not dare to spin his thoughts any further; not yet, at least. For a few seconds, Legolas was even repulsed to some extent; as much as he desired the one he never should love, as much as he loved and cherished their new level of relationship, Thranduil still was his sire! And there were a few things a child never wished to know about their parents. Oddly, Legolas was no exception to that rule. But despite all the emotions that rushed through him, he couldn’t tear his eyes from the intriguing assortment.

As always, in the end, curiosity won. And he began to wonder what else his father might be hiding somewhere in his spacious chambers, but for now he was content with the stash he had already found.

 _‘Decadent’_ was all Legolas could think of when he carefully took each plug out of the wooden casket, studying them with curious eyes. Some of them were rather flexible, others were not, and he asked himself if they served different purposes, if they would ** _FEEL_** different when they were used.

 _‘Oh Ada, such decadence!’_ The entire kingdom knew that their king had a weak spot for jewels and other shining things, especially white gems that resembled the stars high above, yet Legolas doubted that anybody knew what sort of jewels he hoarded beneath his nightstand.

By now, Legolas had counted fifteen different ones. Some were made of polished stone; others seemed to be cast of solid silver, for they were heavy and cold in his hand. There were different shapes and sizes, some so thick that he couldn’t stop thinking how on earth they could **_EVER_** fit. He held between his fingers a carefully molded golden plug, decorated with rings that gradually increased in size. But it was the last one truly peaked his interest, and his eyes grew wide.

The shape of it was identical: relatively slim at one end and incredibly broad at the other, with seven rings of increasing size – but instead of metal they were made of sparkling gems in delicately carved settings, shimmering in the sunlight like the stars in the dark sky. With a strange fascination Legolas realized that the gems were arranged in the colors of the rainbows; the first ring was made out of amethysts, followed by sparkling sapphires and topaz for a lighter shade of blue. However, it was the last ring that made his eyes grow wide. Stones as red as freshly spilled blood, each of them as big as the tip of his thumb. He swallowed hard – there was no way he or **_ANY_** elf could take such inside.

The plug must be worth a fortune, Legolas mused as he allowed his finger to brush over the gems.

_‘Utterly and shamelessly decadent.’_

However, his curiosity about what his father stored all those plugs for returned.

For pleasuring himself or... or for pleasuring others?! The thought alone made his stomach cringe, and jealousy flared for a moment. Most likely his jealousy was ridiculous as he hadn’t heard of his father taking any lovers in many years – but he hadn’t heard about Fergil, either. He had found out about the dalliance between his father and the god-forsaken bastard by accident one winter night. Legolas envied him, and he hated him all the more when his mind made the connection.

 _‘For the god’s sake! NO!’_ he cursed, trying to get rid of the dark-haired elf’s image.

He didn’t want to see him in his mind. He didn’t want to see the smug grin, hear his voice, see him sprawled out on this very bed – at best he would never see the captain of the guard again. It was simply disgusting. The young elf forced those repulsing scenarios to the back of his head, focusing on what he wished to imagine instead; seeing his beloved in the throes of passion was so much better, he decided.

Everything about the king was elegant and strangely beautiful; he was graceful in a way that Legolas was certain was a heavenly magic, granted by the One himself. Even during fucking his otherworldly beauty persisted, even if the mask of ice had long melted, scattered into a thousand pieces. Moaning, arching his body against the silken sheets when he reached behind him to push the silver plug deeper inside him.

Legolas gasped for air; despite the cool breeze that came through the open window, he felt too hot all of a sudden, his garments too restricting. Carelessly he slipped out of his tunic, threw the garment onto the floor and let out a shaky breath. The way the gentle breeze caressed his nude body felt marvelous, making his short hair stand on edge, eliciting goose-flesh all over his body.

“Should I?” he asked himself in a wondrous tone, afraid that he would do something forbidden. “Should I actually do this?” He wanted to so much, yet was it appropriate? Those toys were not made for him; they were his lover’s property, and Thranduil could be rather possessive of his belongings.

 _‘You wouldn’t be angry with me, would you, Ada?’_ Legolas finally decided as his gaze wandered over the toys. _‘I am not stealing anything but making you a present – a wonderful and decadent present.’_ Every single nerve of in body seemed to tingle from the thought alone; aye, this would be the perfect surprise when his lover returned from the council meeting.

To start, he decided for an ordinary silvery one –nothing extravagant, not studded or awkwardly shaped or jewel adorned. Aye it **_WAS_** thick, and he wondered how it would ever fit, but the plug was also somewhat comparable to his father’s cock in size – and, after all, he was preparing himself for him.

Carefully he sat the pillow behind his back and lay himself down against the headboard, but somehow the position seemed useless for his plans. With a sigh he slid lower; now he was half-sitting, half-lying, his cock already hard in anticipation of what was to come, his breathing slightly uneven.

“Aye, this is good,” Legolas said to himself as he bent his knees and reached towards the nightstand to retrieve the little flask of heavenly-smelling lavender oil. With eyes closed he uncorked the vial, and soon the divine scent filled his lungs; it was the smell that reminded him so much of their first shared night, the smell of how he had lost his virginity.

For a few more moments he allowed his thoughts to linger on the past events before he coated his fingers with the oil and gave his cock a few lazily strokes whilst the other hand trailed along his stomach, along his chest until his fingertips brushed against the hardening nipples. With a smile he sighed into the quiet air, thankful for the secluded location of his father’s chambers.

It was impossible to take the plug all at once, not even a little to begin with. Legolas reached carefully between his spread legs and began to circle his entrance with his fingertips, just as his lover always did when he prepared him. (The difference being that Legolas was not even half as patient as Thranduil was.)

His toes curled and he held his breath, his entire body jerking when the first slick finger entered him. Slowly and deliberately he began to push the digit inside until he felt his body relaxing to the alien invasion. In and out, in and out again for a few moments, before he added a second finger. As always, Legolas wanted too much at once, impatience occupying his heart and soul.

“Ouch,” he commented, but bit his lip and continued to scissor his entrance wide enough to take the plug. Never – not even once had he done anything like this, having barely touched his entrance apart from childish curiosity every now and then. For a few moments he curled his fingers inside him, searching for the hidden gland that gave him so much joy. When he finally found what he was searching for, a series of incoherent words and lewd moans began falling from his flushed lips. Oh he was so ready, so eager to take the silver plug inside, ignoring that his body probably was not.

With a heated gasp he withdrew his fingers and poured some more oil into his palm, coating the silver plug and his painfully hard cock with a generous amount of it.

With eyes closed he drew in another deep breath, steading himself.

“You can do this,” he told himself as he held the plug by the base, searching for his entrance. When the cold metal brushed against his heated body, the young elf made the most awkward sound in his throat, but he braced himself; carefully he began to push the slim end inside. At first his body refused. Aye, he had rushed the previous preparations a little, but he simply couldn’t wait a moment longer. He rocked his hips carefully against the invasive plug that felt so different than his fingers. Where his fingers were flexible, the plug wasn’t; where his fingers had been pleasantly warm, the metal felt ice-cold against his heated skin.

 _‘You can do this,’_ He told himself once more as he held his breath and pushed the plug further inside. The young elf couldn’t help but gasp aloud – it felt so thick, so much thicker than anything he had ever taken inside. (Which was not much after all.)

Carefully he pulled the plug back a bit, pushed it in further not a moment later, desperately trying to find the right balance. Maybe he should have chosen a smaller one? Legolas thought for a moment. But then the image of his father’s thick cock came back and he doubted that the plug he was using matched the dimension of what he so much desired to take afterwards.

Little tremors were racking his body when he continued to push the plug inside; but he could do this – he was strong. Still it was awkward to some extent – he had rarely touched himself in such a manner, least of all with a plug entirely made out of silver, shimmering in the soft sunlight that fell through the windows. The cold metal against his heated skin felt both odd and glorious, and he couldn’t help but wonder if his father had used the exact same plug on himself.

 _‘Relax and breathe!’_ Thranduil had told him every so often when he had breached him and pain had been visible in his eyes. Those words came back to him now, echoing through his head and his mind recalled exactly how his father had prepared and loved him. Aye, right now what he was doing hurt, and he was certainly not entirely relaxed, either. His muscles seized and convulsed around the alien object, but he wanted this so much. It was maddening. Legolas forced himself to concentrate on his breathing – in. And out. In and out, and after a few moments he had relaxed visibly and he decided to try it once more with a little bit more patience and oil.

Legolas' eyes fell close once more as he began to push the plug inside him once again. Aye, it still hurt, but a bit to his surprise the plug now seemed to slide more easily into his innocent body, breaching him with its increasing size until he moaned and gasped shamelessly.

“By all the gods, what is this?” he wondered, overwhelmed by the stinging sensation. Pain rushed through him briefly when the cold metal plug was completely sheathed in his pulsating heat, but soon his expression transformed into one of peace of satisfaction. Legolas tried to steady his breathing while he allowed his body to get accustomed to the alien feeling; soon a smirk was curling on his lips as he carefully began to thrust into himself; withdrawing the plug inch by inch only to push it back inside, searching for the right spot.

He sighed and moaned when he found the hidden gland at last, arching his back against the silken sheets.

 _‘Oh by the gods, this feels divine!’_ Languidly, he began to stroke his cock with the other hand, even if he had promised that would only prepare himself for his father’s return without getting himself off; but Thranduil could easily be gone for another few hours. No – he couldn’t wait **_THAT_** long!

“Meleth-nîn,” Legolas said aloud, enjoying the sound of the words coming from his own lips. His voice was hoarse, already heavy with arousal. “Ada,” he added, and he couldn’t stop imaging his father whilst he pleasured himself. Mirkwood’s proud king fucking himself with a jewel-adorned plug, legs parted, his cheeks all flushed and his breathing uneven. Involuntarily, his eyes grew wide as the images that rushed through his head were so vivid, so alive; it was as if he was **_WATCHING_** him doing exactly what Legolas was doing right now.

 _‘So beautiful, so utterly alluring.’_ The icy king, debauched, thrashing and tossing against the sheets as the plug disappeared inside his body over and over again until he could take no more. The ethereal figure reduced to a quivering mess of shameless lust, panting his lover’s name over and over again. The silvery voice of his father echoed in his head, whispering a million filthy things the adamant king would never say, possibly would never even think of. (Here, Legolas was certainly mistaken.)

 _‘Legolas,’_ the voice whispered in his head. _‘Spread your legs – wider, as I wish to see how you fuck yourself with my belongings.’_

Maybe it was the most ridiculous thought in existence, but it was as if Thranduil was actually speaking to him – and without even questioning reality of the words he followed the demand in an instant.

 _‘Ada...’_ Legolas breathed in response, the words followed by a string of moans. Oh he was close – so very close.

_‘Perfect. And now try to match the pace of your thrusts with the pace of your hands…’_

Legolas’s eyes snapped open; it was as if his lover was sitting next to him and watching his shameless display of wanton lust. Not so surprisingly the room was empty; still, he was utterly intrigued and tried to do as he was told to – no matter what witchery this was. He hadn’t thought that this could possibly get any better, but indeed it was divine, even more so as he aimed at the hidden gland with every thrust of the plug.

“OH HOLY GODS.” The young elf tossed and threw his head from one side to the other, the synchronized motions of his hands easily disrupted. It didn’t matter anymore because hot seed spurted onto his hand, onto his arm, his stomach. Countless moans and screams of passion escaped him as his body jerked helplessly. He came hard – with his lover’s image fucking himself displayed before his closed eyes.

For a long while he did nothing apart from lingering in his dream-like state, catching his breath, allowing his body to cool down again with a content smile displayed on his lips.

Legolas was determined to let the plug remain where it was, buried deep inside his innocent body, stretching it wide until Thranduil finally returned from the council meeting. With all his heart he wished it would be sooner rather than later; even if he just had found release a moment ago, he was so beyond eager to be taken by the one he so much loved.

After all the silvery plug was life-less, heart-less, and involuntarily sadness began to coil in his stomach. Throughout all the years his father had suffered after having lost his wife, all he'd had were a few jewel-adorned plugs. It must have been impossibly hard for him, Legolas thought, and if he was honest with himself he had to admit that he had never seen it that way. The emptiness in his heart that must have been eating him alive, slowly, piece by piece, and he wondered how on earth Thranduil had been able to cope with the death of his beloved wife. To some extent, Legolas felt guilty, even if the thought itself was ridiculous; he had never said a word, taken his father’s presence as granted, he had never realized **_HOW_** much his beloved father had suffered all those years.

With a heavy sigh Legolas rolled onto the side, snuggling one of the pillows against him. Oh, he was exhausted, so much more than he had originally planned. (Well, he hadn’t planned any of it in the beginning.)

Involuntarily his eyes fell shut and he indulged in the pleasant aftermath of orgasm, dreaming of his lover, dreaming of all the things he wished to experience in the following weeks and months. For what seemed like an eternity, he was caught in the beautiful state between sleep and awake – until the treacherous click of the wooden front door announced his father’s return.

~

Within the blink of an eye, Legolas was completely awake again, his entire body bursting with energy and anticipation.

“You are late!” he called from the bedchamber, his voice beaming with delight. Actually he had no idea if Thranduil was late; he couldn’t even tell how long he had been asleep. Hastily he changed his position again, throwing the silken sheet and pillows carelessly aside and draping himself lasciviously on the bed. Legolas cursed silently; instead of looking utterly seductive he felt as if he simply looked ridiculous. Again and again, he changed his position, fanning out his golden hair against the pillow, spreading his legs only to close them again, and he began to get nervous. Everything should be in perfect array once his lover stepped inside his bedchamber.

“Oh pardon me that I actually had to accomplish some work today, Legolas. Not everybody can indulge in the pleasantries of doing nothing the entire day – such as you as it seems.” Thranduil laughed as he walked through his chambers into the direction where he assumed that Legolas was. Carefully he placed his circlet aside as well as the belt around the heavy brocade robes. Both were gladly not needed anymore in the privacy of his chambers, and he wondered if the images he had constructed had reached his son’s mind.

“Doing nothing is an insult,” Legolas hissed in feigned annoyance; actually he hadn’t accomplished anything at all, at least nothing in the sense of being useful. Pleasuring himself could hardly be counted, could it?

“Forgive me,” Thranduil said with a hearty chuckle. “But WHAT have you…” the words he wished to say simply died on his lips when he entered his sleeping chambers and his gaze came to rest on his lover’s nude form, which rested against the silken sheets.

Legolas snickered inwardly; it was the perfect surprise, his father’s wide eyes and open mouth told him as much. At the same time he had probably never felt more nervous in his young life.

 _‘By the gods’_ Thranduil couldn’t resist the urge to look his lover up and down repeatedly. Oh he was so utterly seductive in his shameless display of wanton lust, the nervousness that shone from his eyes only highlighting the alluring scenario.

“Oh pardon me,” he mumbled more to himself, but loud enough for Legolas to hear. “Apparently you have not been idle the entire time, even … Well … THAT was not exactly what I had in mind.” The words were nothing more than a blatant lie, as he had certainly hoped that Legolas would put his discovery to some good use whilst he was away. Still – the image took his breath away, and he wondered how often Legolas had repositioned his body on the bed, how often he had fanned out his golden hair over the pillows, the silvery plug buried deep within his clenching entrance. HOW often he had finished himself off, too.

Upon the sight, Thranduil completely forgot how to breathe, how to think. _‘By all the gods. You are irresistibly beautiful.’_ Even if his son’s body might still be developing, he had the perfect build; he was already fulfilling all the preferences he had: the long and graceful body, those slim yet muscular features, slender hips and impossibly long legs. Oh yes – Legolas’ physical appearance was extraordinarily stunning, even among the fair race of elves.

_‘Beautiful and such a tease.’_

“No?” Legolas interrupted his musings and allowed his lashes to flutter in the most seductive way. “Why is it that I do not believe you…?”

“I do not know,” responded Thranduil with a mischievous grin.

Suddenly he felt too warm, the heavy robes too restricting. With a few quick motions of his jewel-adorned fingers he discarded it and allowed it to fall carelessly onto the floor, now only wearing his breeches and a nearly transparent silken undershirt. Legolas couldn’t resist the urge to gasp aloud at the beautiful sight before him.

“So,” the young elf inquired, playing with a strand of his own hair, twisting it around his finger until it sprang free again. “What exactly took you so long?”

 _‘Believe me, you do not wish to know.’_ Instead of raising his voice, he lowered himself onto the edge of the bed and crawled towards his lover’s parted legs. Raw emotions shone from his lover’s sparkling eyes, a feral and predatory look that almost took Legolas’ breath away, making his entire body quiver in anticipation. It was exactly the reaction he had so much wished to provoke that very morning. And several times before.

“I won’t waste any more time, Legolas,” he vowed, ignoring his son’s original question. This was hardly the perfect moment to talk about the boring council meeting and the little incidence he had had with Fergil, especially as he knew that Legolas despised the dark-haired elf to some extent, even if he didn’t understand why. The desire that rushed through his body increased with every second that passed idly; hastily he lowered himself on top of his lover’s body, a moan tumbling over his lips when their hard cocks touched through the fabric of his breeches. Absently, Legolas spread his legs wider to accommodate his lover, adjusting his position as much as it was possible completely covered. Never would he tire of feeling his lover’s weight on top of him. At best he could spent his entire life like this.

Even more so when Thranduil began to mouth his bared neck, every touch of his lips assisted by his fingers, which drew irregular patterns over the warm and smooth skin. “So I wonder … have you enjoyed your lazy afternoon?” With every word he said he allowed his tongue to flicker against his skin until Legolas’ body was reduced to a quivering mess, unable to respond to his father’s question. But wasn’t it obvious what he had done once he had found the secret casket? His thoughts were running riot when Thranduil’s hand slipped beneath his buttocks, gently pushing the plug in and out, in and out until he tried to arch his back under the heavy body that pinned him down.

For once, the young elf decided to ignore his father’s question. “I... I wonder...” Legolas mumbled between gasps. “On whom .. do you... them?” A flare of jealously sparked inside him, and he didn’t know if it was wise to phrase his thoughts aloud. An answer that was not entirely to his liking would certainly ruin this perfect moment – yet the tempting image of an utterly debauched king pleasuring himself with those delicate objects wouldn’t leave his mind. He simply **_HAD_** to know.

“Myself.” He stated matter-of-factly, nibbling tenderly at his lover’s ear-lobes until Legolas moaned again.

“Yourself?!” Legolas nearly squeaked, his assumption finally confirmed, and his heart leaped against his rib-cage.

His father began to explain, “Aye, on myself. If you do not believe me, you are more than welcome to watch with your own eyes.” Thranduil couldn’t help but to snicker at the expression that form on Legolas' face as soon as his mind had processed the meaning behind what he'd said.

No words seemed to come out of his mouth for a long moment, and when they finally came they were stutters of insecurity. “Are .. are you serious?!” he asked in sheer disbelief.

Thranduil gave him a challenging grin,“Of course I am, meleth-nîn.” He said in a gentle voice, carefully withdrawing the plug from his lover’s entrance only to push it back inside completely until another moan spilled free. “And if this is not enough you are more than welcome to participate.”

No, he couldn’t believe that his father was making such an indecent proposal, and his eyes only grew wider, if that were even possible, and his mind refused to form a coherent thought; never in his life had his cock felt harder between his legs.

Without much thought he flung his arms around his father’s neck, wrapping his slender legs around his waist to pull him completely on top of him.

“Gods. I love you,” he exclaimed, his voice beaming with happiness and adoration. “Ge melin. I can’t believe it still. None of it.”

Thranduil could hardly believe it himself, but for once it was he who grew impatient; they have spent enough precious moments with words. “Hush now.” Their lips met in a searing kiss that was demanding, fueling their desire. Once more he pushed inside with the plug before he withdrew it completely, laying it carelessly aside before he reached between their heated bodies and began to unlace is breeches hastily until his cock sprang free.

A visible shiver ran down his spine; Thranduil had never fucked his young lover fully clothed – it had always seemed so inappropriate. (Well, bedding his own child was equally inappropriate, and from time to time the fact still made his stomach cringe, but mostly he managed to ignore this little detail.) But apart from being inappropriate it had seemed so careless, too – he wished to worship his lover’s body, caress every inch of his beautiful skin.

If this was not enough already, it got worse: It reminded him of all the young Galadhrim he had bedded in the past years, all those elves that were nothing more than small trophies he had collected over the years, trophies of his restless hunt. Never had he bothered to undress completely when one of them had fallen under his sinful spell.

Now he couldn’t be bothered either – but for completely different reasons. Legolas moaned upon the sudden emptiness of his quivering entrance and pleaded both with his lips and his eyes, to be filled again. Oh, Thanduil would more than happily oblige, his own desire rushing uncontrolled through him. Ever since his reverie during the council meeting his cock hadn’t softened; the constant brush against his breeches, which seemed several numbers too tight, didn’t make it any better. For a moment he let the backs of his fingers linger against the ring of muscle before he took his cock in his hand, positioning its head against the waiting hole. He didn’t even bother coating himself with oil, judging that his lover’s channel was slick enough from his previous preparations.

Legolas caught his father’s hungry gaze and stared mesmerized into those dark eyes, even if he couldn’t fully comprehend all the emotions that flickered through them. During Beltaine Night he had seen the feral, almost predatory stare before – it had sent him over the edge immediately, and now he felt exactly the same, praying to the gods that his lover would devour his mouth, his body, as he had done once before.

Absently, Legolas gave his nod of consent in silence, their eyes still locked, and apparently this was all the reassurance his lover needed as he pushed the head of his cock past the clenching ring of muscle. Thranduil withdrew his hand momentarily from his erection and entangled his fingers with Legolas’ own, placing them next to his head on each side.

Sparks sizzled in his body, and a groan, followed by a sharp cry left his lips when his lover buried his thick cock with a single hard thrust. “ADA!” Legolas cried out, tossing his head from one side to the other, trying to trash his body beneath him. Of course he failed; he wasn’t able to move a single inch. His breath became irregular – he felt as if he would burst from inside, his muscles clenching around the alien invasion.

“Shut up, will you?” For a moment, Thranduil seemed to have lost all his wits, and a shiver of excitement rushed the young elf. His painful whimpering was silenced by a searing kiss, his father’s tongue exploring every inch of his wet mouth, licking along his teeth, along his lips, claiming him as he had never claimed him before. By the time he withdrew his lips the pain had finally subsided, but still he felt as if he would burst, torn apart, and he partly blamed his previous explorations for it. Aye he hadn’t be extraordinarily careful in the throes of passion. But this, this was so much better, felt so much better than it had whilst fucking himself.

If is lover would just move! But Thranduil didn’t wish to hear any of his thoughts, even if he most certainly had read them through their mental link. He didn’t move a single inch, giving Legolas time to adjust to his pulsating cock. Once again it became evident that patience was not Legolas' strongest virtue.“Ada please…” he whispered helplessly, and Thranduil couldn’t help but find it utterly charming right now.

With a sly smile he obeyed and began to thrust into the heat that was wrapped around his cock, soon forgetting that he had vowed many nights ago not to claim, not to use his lover’s body in the way he usually did. His thrusts became more frantic, harder, faster than they had ever been before as insatiable desired overwhelmed him. He thrust faster and faster until Legolas’ tried to meet his thrusts, kissing him, biting his ivory skin, again and again until a thin layer of sweat began to form on his forehead.

With a smug smirk he pulled out almost completely, only the thick head of his cock remaining in his lover’s channel, only to drive back with enough force to make Legolas cry out. _‘Oh by the gods – scream again!’_ And so his young lover did when he repeated what he just had done.

Moans and heated gasps fell from his son’s lips, mingled with panted ‘ada’s’ and ‘meleth,' interrupted by countless ‘ohs’ and ‘ahs’ - never would he tire of all the sounds he could elicit from his lover’s lips, sounds that rang like music in his ears. Legolas’ arms were pushed back above his head, his body securely pinned against the mattress by his lover’s body weight, hindering him from thrashing. For a moment, when his father’s teeth sank into his tender skin once again, the young elf felt as the world collapsed around him.

Oh it was so utterly divine. Arousing. Perfection.

He couldn’t find any other words to describe exactly how he felt. Once – well, maybe one and a half times – he had been able to witness Thranduil’s possessiveness: the predatory smirk, the hungry stare that occupied his eyes, his demanding lips and hands against his heated skin. Shivers were constantly running down his spine, and blood crept up his cheeks as his mind began to imagine how he would be claimed like that, unable to escape, unable to fight against the constant penetration.

He couldn’t explain why he felt as he did; usually the young elf hated being weak, being the one who had to surrender on the training grounds. Oh he despised it with all his heart, but now – now he loved it more than anything!

“Gods... this feels so good,” Legolas panted with half-lidded eyes, not evening realizing that he had said something aloud until his lover’s voice reached his ear.

“Better than the plug?” asked Thranduil, breathing against the crook of his neck where he had left a passion mark behind a moment ago. The answer was already visibly displayed on Legolas' burning face, but he wished to hear the words nevertheless.

“By all the gods – YES!” Legolas cried out when the hidden gland was repeatedly hit, he couldn’t help but to weave his fingers into his lover’s hair, pulling his head down to be kissed again. Searing. Breathless. Until he couldn’t think or breathe anymore, dissolving completely.

Somehow their lovemaking seemed to evolve towards a completely new level; Legolas couldn’t tell what turned him more on – the fact that Thranduil was still wearing his garments or that he couldn't seem to care less. In the past, he had always had he asked Legolas countless times if he was hurting him, had reassured himself by watching his face closely – now he didn’t and Legolas was forever thankful. It was not long until Legolas joined his motions, meeting his frantic thrusts until the most obscene noises of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with Legolas’ moans and cries of pleasure.

Gods, his lover was so unspeakably loud, and once more Thranduil was grateful for the secluded location of his chambers as well as of the thick stone walls that swallowed every noise. Expertly he placed one of his lover's legs over his shoulder, changing the angle ever so slightly to fuck him even deeper. Oh, it was hot, so extraordinarily hot in his rooms that tiny pearls of sweat began to spread from his forehead towards his entire face, his chest and his back, and his long hair began to cling to his glistening skin.

Never has his father been more beautiful! Legolas thought, scratching along the scar-less back with his nails in the throes of passion.

Legolas’ world went blank as he lost himself completely in the carnal lovemaking. He would be sore the next day, he already was from the silver plug, but he couldn’t care less as desire washed through him “More…saes.” Legolas pleaded when his lover stilled his movements for a second to catch his breath. “Do not torture me so.”

 _‘Oh you have no idea what wonderful ways of torture exist, my little one.’_ One day he possibly could show him; for the moment another hard and deep thrust had to be sufficient.

Legolas rolled his hips again in encouragement as his lover seemed to have completely forgotten about him as a result of his wicked thoughts.

“Are we becoming a little impatient?” he breathed against Legolas’ neck before he bit down into the delicate skin until his lover’s entire body jerked in response.

His breath was coming in shallow gasps due to the searing pain.“ADA!” he squeaked in surprise and pain alike. A prominent passion mark would certainly grace his skin the following days!

“I am truly sorry.” No, he wasn’t but it mattered not, and Legolas’ pain was soon forgotten when he began to move again. In and out, in and out again, until he found a steady tempo, repositioning both of his lover’s legs onto his shoulders to allow for a deeper penetration.

It didn’t fail in its effect.

Legolas thrashed and tossed beneath him, throwing his head from one side to the other whilst he dug his fingernails deep into his father’s shoulders.

“Please…more,” Legolas begged even if the pace was already maddening, and Thranduil couldn’t help but wonder how often his lover had brought himself off whilst he had been sitting in the boring council meeting.

Out of nowhere something else began to occupy his mind. This was indeed the perfect punishment, and the thought alone nearly pushed him over the edge. Legolas would be sore the next day but he didn’t care, couldn’t care anymore even if he knew he should but, after all, he was begging so nicely for it, wasn’t he?

Legolas felt as if he was dying. With a breathless moan he rolled his hips to meet the brutal thrusts, quickening his pace until he bounced against him – over and over until tiny pearls of sweat were forming on his forehead, getting caught in his eyebrows, his long lashes. It wasn’t extraordinarily warm, but he felt as if the world around him was burning, consuming him with its searing flames.

“Ada… I love you… Ge melin,” he mumbled and screamed at the same time before his back arched and every single muscle seized. Wave after wave of a blinding ecstasy rushed through him. Tortured moans ripped through his dry throat as his seed spilled onto his stomach. For a few seconds their eyes met and Thranduil could see into his lover’s very soul. All the love and desire that occupied his son’s mind, the sheer beauty and innocence of his love for him – no he couldn’t hold back anymore and followed him into the realm of bliss. Sparks sizzled before his inner eye, and for a moment he didn’t exist anymore – nothing around them existed. They were isolated from the world as they rocked together. Their foreheads touched and searing kisses sealed their bruised lips when they rode the heights of orgasm together.

For a long while they snapped for air, exhausted and utterly spent, unable to say a single word, overwhelmed by the intensity of their coupling. He could stay like this forever, Thranduil mused, lying on top of his beloved, feeling his heated skin under his fingertips, smelling the divine scent that escaped his hair and was now mingling with the traitorous musk of sex. Oh, life was good indeed. With a little reluctance he rolled off of Legolas and settled beside him in the ruffled sheets, propping himself up on the elbow.

Much to his surprise, his son was the first to raise his voice; a warm smile graced Legolas’ lips as he met his father’s gaze. “Oh by the Valar, that was…intense?”

“I would say so, meleth-nîn.” Thranduil drew lazy circles over his cum-decorated stomach, painting the outline of a heart around his son’s navel. Suddenly he felt young again, carefree and innocent as he once had been many millennia ago.

Legolas wished to stay in his father’s arms forever, but his need to take a shower, or even better, a bath was strong. He didn’t have the luxury of a private bath in his own chambers; it was a privilege of the king himself. And it was something he now would certainly take advantage of. “As much as I hate to destroy your artwork, Ada I fear I am in desperate need of a bath. You wouldn’t mind if I used yours?” he asked rhetorically. In the past fifty years he had used Thranduil’s baths countless times.

“Do you actually think I would allow you to wander like **_THIS_** through my halls to reach your own quarters?” he laughed heartily, shaking his head. No, the thought itself was ridiculous.

“No – I do not think so,” Legolas said with an equal laugh. “Even if it would truly be a sight to behold.”

“Certainly – but made only for my eyes to see,” he exclaimed, possessiveness audible in his voice. Oh, he was besotted with the love he harbored for his young son, so much so that he felt a little ridiculous. Lazily he claimed the bruised lips again before he added: “For myself a shower will be sufficient, so feel free to use either the normal bath or the pool, fed by the natural springs.”

Both choices seemed equally alluring, but why didn’t his lover wish to join him? Legolas couldn’t understand it. “Why not join me?” he offered with an inviting smile.

“Oh Legolas, dear,” Thranduil began to explain, affectionately kissing the sweaty forehead. “As much as I would love to I am hungry and will take care that dinner is prepared in the meanwhile.”

A few more minutes passed, and it was the perfect silence as their pulses slowed down to an acceptable rate and Legolas felt able to finally leave the bed into the direction of the spacious bath.

“Wait…” he heard his father’s voice whispering against his skin the moment he swung his legs of the edge of the bed.

Instantly, he crooked his head and raised an eyebrow, asking, “What?”

Carefully, Thranduil cupped his lover’s beautiful face in return and kissed him deeply with his eyes closed, savoring the feeling of Legolas’ lips against his own. “Now you may go,” he mumbled against them, releasing his fair face.

Never had the young elf felt happier than in this very moment.

*****


	3. Summer Wine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Legolas and Thranduil have dinner together with lots of summer wine... and the wine makes Legolas bold, so much bolder than he usually is :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally part of Chapter 02 but I have decided to split it due to word count reasons.  
>   
>  **[Beta]** <3 Again, this chapter was beta-read by the lovely, [OohLaGalion](http://archiveofourown.org/users/OohLaGalion/pseuds/OohLaGalion) <3  
> Thank you so much <3  
>  **[Tags for this chapter]** Daddy kink, explicit language, slow sex  
>  **[Music]** Natalia Avelon feat. Ville Valo – Summer Wine  
> 

**Summer Wine**

*****

The cold water from the natural spring, which was cascading down his heated and exhausted body like a waterfall, was wonderfully soothing, especially in combination with the pleasantly warm pool he sat in. Every inch of his body seemed to hurt. Both his mind and body were exhausted; muscles he did not even know existed burned.

 _‘Oh well,’_ the young elf thought in silence, brushing the wet hair behind his ears. _‘I shouldn’t complain. After all I have provoked it, have I not?’_

Aye, of course he had – and so much more, and he already planned on doing the exact same thing again. And again! After all, his father’s chambers harbored the perfect amenities for heated days and passionate nights, Legolas mused with a chuckle as his mind drifted off; it was still impossibly hard to believe that this – any of it – was indeed happening between them.

But it was!

The blossoming passion mark on his ivory skin and the constant ache between his buttocks told him as much. Apparently they – or better he himself – has certainly overdone it with the metal plug. And why? Because he was the most impatient elf wandering Arda’s soil; it only served him right!

 _‘Oh Ada,’_ Legolas said to himself as he heard the nearby shower splashing against the stone walls. _‘Such a pity that you have decided against joining me.’_

At the same time, he decided that he would take his time in his father’s lavish natural pool, allowing his thoughts to roam freely, allowing his mind to recall the wondrous turn of events, the gentle explorations and frantic couplings. Even if he was beyond exhausted and sore already, he couldn’t help but wonder what the night would have in stock for him, especially as their desire for each other didn’t seem to know boundaries nor limitations. Legolas squeezed his eyes shut, sending a fervent prayer to the Valar, pleading for the relationship to never end – they had been together less than a week, yet everything felt so perfect, so natural – meant to be, and he was certain that he wouldn’t survive a rejection. Or a loss – and he couldn’t help but wonder how on earth his father had survived his wife’s death.

With reluctance he forced himself to rise from the bath, pushing off of the heavy stone wall; Legolas did not know how much time he had spent in reverie; beads of water fell over his shoulders, running slowly down his chest, over his still hardened nipples, rising and falling with each ridge of muscle when they reached his abdomen.

Warm water was still pooling around his legs, and little waves swept against his knees, the water from above leaving a wet trail behind as it withdrew from his alabaster skin.

 

**~**

When Legolas finally returned from the dressing room after what seemed like an eternity, he found his father sitting behind the richly decorated dinner table; countless candles were lit in front of him, casting dramatic shadows across Thranduil’s handsome face, across the heavy walls; the candles themselves and the atmosphere they created were beautiful, but in addition a bouquet of flowers was placed in the middle of the table. And food. Just so much delicious food. His eyes were taking in the room with comfortable familiarity, yet something seemed to be out of place – entirely different.

Legolas inclined his head politely when their eyes met.

“Legolas, you look glorious!” Thranduil stated with delight and a radiant smile, and he meant it. In his eyes, Legolas with his still damp and unbraided hair was extraordinarily stunning in the dim light; his skin shone pale, eerie even, and absently his jewel-adorned finger began to trace the curve of his son’s cheekbone in his mind.

The comment elicited, a blush and the young elf couldn’t help but to avert his eyes shyly, looking down at the floor. No matter what wicked and filthy words fell from his father’s lips in his secret fantasies, being complimented in such a manner was something entirely different.

He wasn’t used to such flattery, and facing his beloved still made him nervous to some extent.

When Thranduil had mentioned dinner before, Legolas had expected some bread, cheese and wine – just as usual when they dined together – but what lay in front of him looked more like a private feast meant to last for several days than a casual dinner.

 _‘Have I forgotten anything? A birthday? A special holiday?’_ he asked himself with wonder, still amazed and taken aback by the beautiful decorations. That he and their new relationship could be the reason never occurred to him, not even once.

“Please sit down, ion-nîn.” He heard his father say, but his mind was reeling. He stared at him, unblinking, mesmerized by the bewitching blue eyes. Slowly his gaze began to wander distinctly lower as the last buttons of his father’s elaborate robes were left open, revealing his throat with the fading passion mark he had left behinds a few days ago. Legolas couldn’t help but appreciate the presentation; oh how often had he fantasized about kissing his sire’s throat until delicate reddish marks would blossom on the ivory skin, to kiss and caress, taste every aroma that lingered on the delicate skin, nibble and bite him until treacherous moans would fall from those luscious lips.

“Legolas…” Thranduil said once more, now a little bit louder, tearing him out of his mental absence.

“Pardon me,” he mumbled in response in an apologetic tone, entirely taken aback. “My mind must have gone astray.”

“Oh has it? Pardon me but this was obvious, my dear,” he laughed heartily, gesturing his son to take his place. “I just wonder why?” he added, not truly expecting an answer. And he was right to assume as much – Legolas simply remained quiet.

With a brief nod and a deep breath, the young elf sat down next to his father’s left side. This was his place; it had always been like this, and he would always take the seat even if his elder brother wouldn’t dine with them, as was often the case in the past years.

Carefully he allowed his fingers to brush against the smooth wood of the table. Legolas had always wondered where Thranduil – or most likely his grandfather, Oropher, had gotten this magnificent piece of art from; everything in the halls was richly crafted, adorned with tiny leaves and blossoming flowers, reflecting the nature of the enchanted forest, and massive antlers, the sigil of his house – but this table was different from everything he had ever seen. It shone like brown ice in the flickering candlelight, changing its tone depending what light fell onto it. Again his mind had drifted off, and when he looked next, Thranduil was holding a silver decanter in his hand – most likely it was Dorwinion, Legolas assumed, but at the same time he noticed the absence of the distinct smell that usually wavered through the dining room.

“Would you like some?” asked his father not a second later.

Of course he did. Maybe, Legolas thought, the alcohol would chase his feelings of awkwardness away. “Yes please,” he responded, holding up his own goblet towards Thranduil. Occasionally, he had drunk a glass of wine – or two at the solstice festivities held in the enchanted forest – but compared to his father’s love for wine he was innocent as a blushing maid.

As always, they were alone sitting in the spacious room; despite his rank and status, the king had always refrained to gather his countless servants around him for private meals with his family. Once the table was filled with heavenly smelling food and wine, together with fruits, water and sweets, all servants left the kingly quarters, giving them the privacy Thranduil cherished beyond measure. Family came first, always and foremost as he didn’t wish to be interrupted or overheard. It always had been much to Legolas’ liking – he hated it when strangers fussed about him, scolding him, admonishing him even. More than once he had screamed and yelled when one of his nursemaids had tried to teach him manners; the elfling had refused to listen to everybody who was not his father – or Galion. The tales of his childish tantrums were countless, and often Thranduil wondered where his son’s obsession with him had come from.

Yet he had never found the heart nor the courage to properly punish him for his insolent behavior.

These days however, Legolas was even more thankful for these circumstances; shooing the servants out all of a sudden would certainly raise suspicions – and nasty suspicions and gossip among the servants were certainly the last thing they both needed. Gossip usually spread like wildfire through the halls and corridors, as it usually went unpunished. At times it even seemed as if carrier pigeons would be used to inform those who were on duty in the forest. Of course it was ridiculous, yet there always had been certain elves who seemed to be extraordinarily well-informed.

Rather absently, Legolas brought the goblet to his lips and took a careful sip of the almost colorless liquid. He allowed the drink to tickle his tongue for a few moments, trying to identify the alien taste before he swallowed. _‘This tastes amazing,’_ he thought to himself, immediately taking another sip, this time not so hesitant anymore. He had tried something rather similar once before, but he couldn’t figure out what it had been nor when. Similar, yet so entirely different; sparkling, sweet and sour at the same time – extraordinarily refreshing.

“What is this?” the young elf asked, curiosity ringing in his voice. Never before had he drunk anything like it, but the taste was truly divine and actually it did not taste of alcohol at all, more like a mixture of sparkling water and syrup.

“Elderflower wine.” His father explained with a generous smile, taking a sip of his own. “It is a traditional brew of the Silvan elves, specially made in late spring to be consumed on hot summer days.” Today was not extraordinarily hot but the king still favored the elderflower wine over the heavy and potent Dorwinion, and for his young son it was certainly the better choice. A glass of Dorwinion was probably enough to send him straight into slumber, or worse, to the bathroom. He wouldn’t be the first to underestimate the strength of the brew.

Legolas took another sip, savoring the sparkles that formed on his tongue, the sweet and sour flavor that tickled his lips and his throat. Heavenly! Just as the entire situation was; and now he realized that today was the first time after several months that they were having dinner together. All those months, he had hidden himself in his chambers, locked himself up like a bird in a golden cage – or had fled to his summer talan when he thought he couldn’t stand his father’s proximity any longer.

“Why?” asked Legolas out of curiosity. For Thranduil the question came out of nowhere, and he had not the slightest idea what his son could mean.

“Why what, Legolas?” he inquired just before he let a strawberry fall between his parted lips.

“This,” Legolas gestured towards the bouquet of white and lilac flowers that stood on the middle of the table. “But I mean not this alone, but - ALL of it,” he said, now pointing towards the food and the scented candles. “We have dined together countless times over the past few years, but today feels so…different?” Legolas couldn’t even exactly explain what rushed through his head in that moment, nor where the words had come from all of a sudden.

 _‘Oh my dear,’_ Thranduil thought, catching the look of amazement in his son’s eyes. ‘ _You are beyond alluring in your innocence.’_

The explanation was as simple as the question was. “Because it **_IS_** different.” With a dreamy smile he brought the goblet to his lips and took a careful sip before he continued to speak. “If you remember, I once said, ‘I am willing to lay the world right before you’ – and I meant it, Legolas. Every single word I spoke that night… I meant it, and I still mean it.”

Involuntarily, the young elf’s mind began to recall the evening his father was speaking of, and he allowed his eyes to briefly fall shut as sweet memories rushed through him

_“Are you going to seduce me?” he had asked, feeling nervous._

_“Do you want me to?” his father had replied with a mischievous smile._

_“Yes…” was all he had managed to stutter, taken aback._

Legolas couldn’t help but smile, opening his eyes again when Thranduil continued speaking softly. “I meant it, still mean it … and so much more. As you may already know – or have at least assumed as much – there are certain courting rites and rituals in existence for when two elves evince interest in one another, before they end up between the sheets.”

Thranduil’s monologue was interrupted by a hearty chuckle.

“Yes, I know, Legolas.” He couldn’t help but laugh, too. His son had a valid point, after all. “Well – even if it seems that things are ** _slightly_** different for us and our relationship, none of it would even be necessary, I assume?” he asked rhetorically, before he stated: “Still I wish to do it properly, given that you do not mind, of course. It is a form of appreciation towards the other, a way to show that my interests are honest and sincere. AND, more importantly, you have never experienced anything of the sort – it would be a pity if you never would.”

Many centuries ago he had last courted and seduced another with the subtle ways of charm and those flattering words of wooing which seemed to come so naturally to him; it had been Legolas’ mother, his most beloved wife. At first she had been so utterly reluctant, so much more than Thranduil, after all being royalty, had ever expected her to be, but in the end he had been grateful for her initial hesitation. She hadn't been one to be easily persuaded – ever – and for this he loved her all the more.

In the meantime, a lump began to form in Legolas’ throat, and tears of happiness found their way into his eyes; those words were of incomparable beauty.

Bewitched, he met his father’s stunning blue eyes, which could resemble the frozen sky if he wanted to, but now his gaze was warm and gentle. “Yes…” Legolas mumbled, taking a large sip of the summer wine to eliminate the lump. Never before had anyone courted him. Never had he heard such words of utter adoration. “You do not know how happy this makes me.” With his sleeve he brushed away a tear that tickled down his cheek as he tried to regain his composure. “I want everything what you are willing to offer... to give,” he added, the previous words still echoing in his head. There were so many things he had not the slightest idea of, the young elf noticed.

“Are there rules for it?” Legolas asked, curiosity audible in his voice. “Or better said: What are the traditions?”

“There are no actual rules for it, my love,” Thranduil began to explain patiently, sipping from the goblet every now and then. “Whatever you think might please the other is allowed. The rituals, however, are much dependent on your origin. There are indeed differences between the Silvan and Sindarin elves, not to mention our Noldorian kin, but I am not extraordinarily familiar with their customs.”

Over the many centuries that Thranduil had lived as their prince and later their king, he had learnt and adapted many habits of the Silvan elves, just as his father had. “As you know, our Silvan kin enjoy best the forests and the stars, the nature surrounding them – so their courting is based upon those traditions. Wandering beneath the star-lit sky, having dinner on the shores of the gushing river with candle-lights and small bonfires, spending the night outside until the sun greets the new day.”

Legolas’ mind had already begun to imagine them wandering the enchanted forest hand in hand on bare feet, and a shiver of delight rushed down his spine. He wanted all of this, and his eyes began to sparkle with curiosity. “Ada... we have adapted so many of their customs, why not those as well?”

“Aye we have,” replied Thranduil with a gentle smile. Without their Beltaine rites Legolas and he would never be where they were now, even if he had judged the incidenct fatal. “And I never said that we – that ** _I_** am planning to avoid them – I am merely explaining to you the original differences. By now, our habits have mingled to a greater extent, and I feel free to wander in both worlds. So whereas their rituals are mainly nature-based, the Sindar court differently; lavish dinners with candlelight and wine, little presents every now and then to show gratitude and appreciation, and flowers. Countless flowers.”

Until now, Legolas had not paid too much attention to the bouquet of wild flowers and white roses together with lilac and bluebells that filled the air with a heavenly scent, but now he certainly did. As his gaze shifted back and forth between his father’s eyes and the flowers, his lover’s smile grew with every second that passed.

“So those..?” he began, but Thranduil interrupted the question and finished the sentence for him.

“Are for you. Yes,” he stated, and Legolas’ response was instant; his smile became radiant, even more than it already had been. “Hannon le, Ada!” he squeaked in delight, letting his fingertips brush against the soft petals whilst he brought the goblet to his lips with the other. Deep inside, the young elf knew he shouldn’t drink more of the divine draught, but he couldn’t keep himself from drinking. “They are so beyond beautiful – just like you.”

“Oh, compliments are important, too,” responded Thranduil with a heart-warming laugh, nearly as if he had forgotten about that little detail. They spoke about the different customs a little longer, and Legolas had made clear that he wished to experience **_ALL_** of it several times, and his lover had gladly accepted.

Upon all the newly obtained information, Legolas had completely forgotten about the delicious food – he had barely eaten anything at all, but had consumed all the more of the sweet summer wine. Slowly yet distinctly, a rather awkward tingling sensation began to form in his body, and simultaneously his cheeks began to burn. Certainly the candles could be blamed, the young elf thought as he lost himself in his lover’s gorgeous appearance; his eyes lingered on his father’s perfect throat, wandering slowly along the prominent vein, the flexing muscles when he swallowed, and he couldn’t help but drown the content of his own goblet, knowing deep inside already that this was not the wisest thing to do.

 _‘Oh by the Valar, stop being so beautiful.’_ Legolas was truly mesmerized as he scanned every inch of the forbidden flesh he so much desired. He wished to touch, to kiss, to taste every nuance of the tempting skin; to caress and explore every part with his lips and hands alone. The passion mark which he had left behind in his vivid dreams a few days ago was barely visible anymore. Still, he possibly would never forget where he had bitten him as long as he lived. The young elf was besotted by the sweet summer wine and the illicit love that occupied his heart and soul; and somehow it seemed mutual, as Thranduil stared back at him. Both couldn’t get enough, it seemed – of each other and of the sparkling summer wine.

Absently, Legolas’ hand reached out for the decanter, and he refilled the silver goblet of his own accord.

 _‘If this is wise, I do not exactly know,’_ Thranduil thought to himself, but he didn’t want to hinder his son from drinking as much as he wished to, even if he would possibly suffer the following morning.

“You seem to enjoy the elderflower wine,” was all he said.

“Aye,” responded Legolas with a smile before he took a bite of the apple slice. “The taste is divine.”

Much to his surprise he wasn’t hungry at all anymore, and he had not eaten anything apart from a little bit of fruit – but how was he supposed to focus on eating when that tasted so much better sat right beside him? Legolas gave the dishes an apologetic look as he took another slice of apple, before his gaze came to rest on his father once again. Apparently his appetite had been sated in other ways, and he nearly choked on the food at his own thoughts. His mind seemed to become wickeder with every day – no, with every hour that passed.

And it was all his father’s fault! (Which was not exactly true, however.)

The way he looked at him with hungry eyes, the way he presented himself, the divine display with the strawberries between his luscious lips. Certainly he was doing it on purpose, weaving his spell of enchantment around him.

“You are beautiful,“ Legolas commented rather absently, playing with the food that had remained on his plate.

The words came somewhat unexpected, Thranduil had to admit – still they elicited a radiant smile on his lips. It was no secret how much he enjoyed being complimented, even though he doubted that his son would actually know it. “Hannon le. So are you,” he said with a smile but admonished his son’s behavior not a moment later, adding: “but would you mind not playing with the food you do not want to eat?”

Legolas had not even noticed that he had done so, and he was well aware of the fact of just how much his father despised this trait: _‘not suited for royalty, Legolas.’_ It echoed through his head, Galion and his father’s voices mingling as both elves had said it countless times throughout his youth. It was a bad habit, he knew, but he had never been able to stop it completely.

“No,” he replied in an apologetic tone, placing the cutlery aside as he certainly would not need it anymore.

A nod of appreciation and another smile was the instant reward, and it was enough to make heat sear throughout his body. Legolas had always strived for his father’s recognition and approval, be it on the training ground or at the dinner table, and it was no different now – possibly it had only gotten worse the past few days.

“Thank you,” Thranduil stated matter-of-factly with an indecisive voice. “You know... not suited…” Fucking his own son was not suited for royalty either, but the king decided to ignore this fact for the moment. Indeed, he had already decided to ignore it forever if that was possible.

“YES! I know it is not suited for royalty, Adar,” Legolas snapped, interrupting his sire’s words. “There is no need to remind me,” he added, annoyance audible in his voice. And with that said, he downed another goblet of elderflower wine.

“Oh pardon me, but tell me, have I discovered a weak spot of yours?” he asked rhetorically, as he already knew the answer.

“No,” lied Legolas without even feeling bad about it.

“I think I might have,” Thranduil replied with a chuckle, but decided he would let go of this matter. There was no need to tease his beloved any further, possibly ruining the perfect evening. After all, Legolas was his son and he had inherited a good amount of his tempter. “But apart from that, are you not hungry?”

 _‘No I am not – at least not for food.’_ The words nearly escaped him, and he choked on his bites of apple. The thought alone let blood creep towards his cheeks, and it was involuntarily hard to retain his composure. “No, I am not,” he carefully said aloud. “The heat has reduced my appetite.”

 _‘And yet another lie,’_ Thranduil thought silently. Usually, lies were something he couldn't tolerate, but he decided to turn a blind eye on this. Though Legolas had always had certain privileges, he was enjoying more special treatment now than he ever had. In fact, the young elf had a natural talent for making Thranduil's world spin and his stomach flutter as if he was a young elf again – even if he was not sure if his son had ever noticed it.

With a generous smirk he said teasingly: “The heat. Of course.” It was not extraordinarily warm outside today, and his cavernous chambers were always pleasantly cool, no matter how hot it was.

“Aye, the heat,” responded Legolas, but all other words died on his lips when his father extended his hand and took it into his own, entwining their fingers. The touch was so innocent, yet so marvelous at the same time when Thranduil’s thumb gently massaged his palms that he felt as if he would faint not a moment later. His stomach fluttered as if a thousand butterflies were trying to escape.

Never had he felt happier. (Well he had, but he ignored that little detail.)

Often in the past few months Legolas had fantasized about various scenarios in regard of his father – but he had never dared to act upon his wicked thoughts, not even when their relationship had finally changed.

Today, however, it was different.

The wine was certainly having an effect on Legolas, even if the elderflower wine was weaker than the usual Dorwinion his father drank in generous amounts. Still, he couldn’t explain where his boldness was coming from, and his body seemed to move on its own accord.

Without saying single word he pushed the heavy chair backwards and rose to his feet, which earned him a quizzically raised eyebrow.

“You are drunk,” Thranduil stated when Legolas staggered in his direction until he came to stand right beside him. Actually he had expected some reaction – a denial, a conformation – **_ANYTHING_** at all, but Legolas remained silent, apparently occupied with his thoughts of how to proceed. _‘Oh my dear,’_ he thought, unable to not feel charmed by his son’s clumsy behavior.

Legolas giggled helplessly when he crawled onto his lap with a grin, unable to say anything; all words were lost in a fit of laughter.

“Possibly,” he managed to finally choke out as he made himself comfortable.

 _‘Oh you are actually really drunk!’_ Thranduil noted to himself, but didn’t interfere with his son’s movements, even if this was not what he had planned for the evening or what he had expected to happen.

In the meantime, Legolas tried to catch his breath and stop his utterly childish behavior, but it was hard, so impossibly hard to stop. Briefly, he let his eyes fall shut, but opened them instantly again as everything around him seemed to spin before his inner eye.

Indeed he felt dizzy.

And hot, so impossibly hot, as if his skin would be consumed by searing flames.

After a moment of silence, Legolas raised his voice, which was heavy from the alcohol, once more. “Do you mind?” the young elf cooed seductively once he had regained his composure at least a little, placing both of his hands on his father’s shoulders.

 _‘Of course not! What was even the question?’_ Thranduil thought to himself. “Do I have a chance?” he asked rhetorically with a laugh, placing his hands on Legolas’ hips.

His son’s reply was instant, and it took him by surprise.

“No,” Legolas whispered against his neck, and the breath elicited a shiver.

The wine had made the young elf bold, so much bolder than he had possibly ever been – and much to Thranduil’s surprise, apparently his son did not even notice just **_HOW_** drunk he was, what he had actually said a second ago. Not that he minded though, he would merely take a little advantage of his lover’s fogged and dizzy mind; two could easily play the game which Legolas had decided to play with him.

“No?” The King tilted his head just a little bit to the side as he often did and furrowed his brows, catching his son’s gaze. “Shall I remind you with whom you are speaking?”

“I am well aware with whom I am speaking...” Legolas stated, trying to keep his calm exterior when it was boiling inside him. “Aran-nîn, adar-nîn.. meleth-nîn.” _(My king, my father, my lover)_

With the last word said he began to kiss his father’s neck, letting his lips brush against the prominent vein, slowly kissing his way upwards into the direction of Thranduil’s pointy ear. Oh it felt so wonderful, so extraordinarily perfect that his entire body quivered in anticipation. Even more so when his father made a deep resonating sound that made Legolas squirm against him.

Briefly, Thranduil let his eyes fall shut – the touch of his son’s lips and hands felt divine. “Good,” he managed to force out as his mind was already somewhere else, reeling from the sensual caresses.

The king’s sweet voice danced through the air, complimenting him in the most wonderful way possible as he began to nibble the tender skin of his father’s earlobe. “You have a natural talent, Legolas,” Thranduil mumbled, tilting his head a little bit to the side to give Legolas more access for his sinful exploration.

The said words elicited another shiver, and his entire body tingled in happiness and anticipation. Oh, he had been bold already but somehow this confession made him even bolder, and his hands slipped beneath his father’s robes as his tongue trailed along the curve of his ear.

Thranduil could feel his lover’s warm and drunken breath against his ear as Legolas spoke once more. “Tell me about your fantasies – ADA,” Legolas demanded in a husky whisper, and for a second the blood seemed to freeze in his veins upon his son’s words. The innocent endearment, having been said a million times before seemed so utterly wrong in **_THAT_** context. But it wasn’t the word itself, Thranduil noticed - there had been a certain ring to it, the way in which Legolas had punctuated it.

A visible shiver rushed through his body, the words causing his flesh to crawl. He moved his head and brought a jeweled finger beneath his son’s chin to make him look at him. For long moments their eyes were locked and silence persisted between them; Legolas was an open book for him to read, he had always been, but in his drunkenness his eyes and soul were entirely unguarded.

Legolas couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable to some extent, not knowing what was happening between them.  

A genuine, yet somewhat mischievous smirk graced Thranduil's lips before he spoke again. “And would you please have the courtesy to tell me **_WHY_** exactly I should do such a foolish thing, my SON?”

His stomach turned for the blink of a moment; it seemed so utterly wrong to say what he just had said, and he wasn’t even certain if he could play the game Legolas was asking for now – at least not until he caught the sparkle and delight in his son’s eyes.

Aye, the young prince was drunk, incredibly so, but still he was far away from losing his wits –nor was this a drunkard's expression.

“Ada…” Legolas breathed. Enchanted is a fool’s word, Thranduil thought to himself and usually he wasn’t a fool, yet somehow Legolas had a natural gift for weaving his spell of innocence around him. “Because I want you to.”

_‘Well … first I would spank you for such an insolent behavior, before I would bend you over the table and ravish you amidst the food and wine.’_

“I am waiting,” Legolas interrupted, poking his lover in the side to regain his attention. Patience was certainly not his greatest strength, but Thranduil could hardly say aloud what he just had been thinking – he was not even certain if Legolas had not caught a glimpse of his fantasy through their mental bond. Possibly not, he decided as he was far too occupied with his own thoughts and fantasies.

“What do you wish to hear, ion-nîn? How much I desire you? How I wish to ravish you? **_How exactly_** I wish to ravish you in the upcoming days?” As much as he again desired him just now, it was hardly possible as Legolas was still sore from the afternoon – his uneasy walking had told him as much. With his naughty behavior it was too easily forgotten that the young elf had barely any experience in such matters – that he was still a fragile virgin to some extent, even if – of course – Legolas wished to hear none of it.

 _‘Fuck my mouth like you did with that Valar-forsaken bastard Fergil?!’_ The words nearly escaped Legolas, and actually this was exactly what Thranduil wished to hear! But somehow, yet again, the words simply wouldn’t come through his father’s lips, nor would he act as he had when Legolas had caught them during their secret dalliance. In fact, Legolas was mildly surprised at the wild surge of jealousy the mere thought of them together elicited, causing his breath to catch in his throat. He couldn’t help but wonder why, and it drove him mad. He hated his father so much for it! For a second the urge to slap his sire across his handsome face occurred, and he was thoroughly shocked by his own thoughts. Violence against each other did simply not occur in their family!

For a few more moments, the young elf pondered his mind, but he didn’t come to a conclusion as to why Thranduil never desired to do anything similar with him, but soon something else began to occupy his drunken mind. During their first night a few days ago, just after his beloved has hesitated a moment too long for his liking, he had simply reversed their positions.

 _'Why not again?'_ he asked himself, and a smile began to spread across his fair face.

Of course, the change did not go unnoticed. “What is it…?” inquired Thranduil with a raised eyebrow.

Instead of replying with words, Legolas decided to answer his father’s question with deeds, hopefully succeeding in what he had planned in his wicked mind.

Slowly, he began to unlace the fastenings of the delicate robes until most of his lover’s skin was revealed, placing kisses against his neck, his collarbone, his sternum. “Well – I was merely wondering about this very position,” Legolas whispered as his lips brushed against his father’s nipple. “And its benefits...” Had he actually said this aloud? He could hardly believe it, and he felt as if somebody else had spoken on his behalf.

It was beyond obvious what Legolas was implying, and he had to admit that the mere thought was extraordinarily appealing – still, he hesitated, a last glimpse of sanity remaining. But it was hard, so impossibly hard, when his leggings felt suddenly too tight, his skin too hot, his breath becoming ragged; temptation incarnate sitting astride him, nearly begging to be taken again.

The words were nothing more than a weak statement, highly unusual for the proud Elvenking. “Legolas... we cannot. Again.”

Given the fact that he had already found his release twice today and this position didn’t allow for any frantic coupling, it certainly would take forever to reach his climax once more. And that only meant that Legolas would be even sorer the following day, maybe even during the act of lovemaking.

No, he couldn’t do it – should not do it, no matter how appealing the mere thought was.

“But I want to,” Legolas breathed stubbornly, and all of a sudden he felt extraordinarily hot. And dizzy, his mind swirling and spinning; he hadn’t expected a rejection, feeling the bulge in his father’s leggings against himself. Maybe he could persuade him with filthy words? Legolas didn’t know, but at least he could try. “I wish to feel you inside me... I... I wish... to ride you? Is that what it is called?”

Thranduil drew in a deep breath, struggling to keep is composure upon his lover’s spellbinding words. “Aye that is what it is called,” he said with a sigh, feeling his defenses scattering. “But you are still sore – and you would be unable to walk. Tomorrow. And the day after, possibly, too.”

Legolas rolled his eyes and shook his head, which certainly was not the wisest idea he had ever had as everything around him began to spin once more.

“I do not care!” he shrieked, visibly annoyed.

“But **_I_** care!” answered Thranduil, equally annoyed. Much to his surprise, his son didn’t flinch upon the change of tone.

Instead he yelled, entirely unimpressed: “I wish you wouldn’t!” The words spilled so freely over his wine-stained lips that at first he didn’t even notice what he had said. When he did, however, the treacherous color of shame and embarrassment graced his cheeks, and he covered his mouth with his hand. No – he hadn’t said that aloud, had he?

But he had – his father’s widened eyes told him as much.

Thranduil shook his head, and it was as if sadness danced through his eyes for the briefest of moments. “Oh believe me, you do not want me to,” he explained, hoping that Legolas would, for once, listen to what he had to say, but right now, confusion clouded his son’s thoughts.

Many years he hadn’t cared for his lovers – at ALL – taking what was his to take, what was so freely offered. Usually a snap of his fingers was enough, one of those special looks that had such a persuasive effect – many tales about his subtle ways of seduction were sung in Lothlorien’s woods, of that he was certain, even if it was not to his liking.

 _‘Never again!’_ he vowed in silence.

For a second Legolas gave him his infamous pouting look, not understanding the world anymore. Why on earth his father deny him his greatest desire was beyond him! Wasn’t he seductive? Wasn’t he alluring? He could have cried from frustration, but he didn’t give in so easily.

Legolas moved even closer, if that was even possible, the words nothing more than a whisper against his father’s heated skin. “You … you … do not know?”

Thranduil swallowed thickly.

Where his son had learned exactly what to say and where to touch him would always remain a mystery to him; they have – of course, never spoken about this in all the years.

Outside, lightning struck as the raging storm built over the enchanted forest, as the wind became stern and strong, but neither of them could be bothered to care about such trivialities.

“No, I do not know what occupies your naughty mind,” Thranduil finally said, his voice low and his eyes trailing over Legolas’ face and body as if he was undressing him with his eyes alone. “But I know that you WILL be sore, and that you might blame me for it instead of yourself.”

 _‘Ada…’_ Legolas thought, giddy with anticipation and arousal, struggling for words when his father continued softly. “You might blame me all you wish, I do not care and I still do not know what occupies your naughty mind, but neither do you know what your words imply. You are young, even if you wish to pretend you are not, from time to time. A careless and empty love can only lead to disappointment and I dearly hope you never have to experience that yourself.”

Legolas’ mind was reeling, and he did not know what exactly he should say in his defense. “I already have... all those countless days when I felt so helpless, so sad that words do not even exist to describe it, so full of sorrow and pain…” Legolas whispered against his father’s neck. “But luckily those days are forgotten.”

Slowly he began to unlace the fastenings of his father’s leggings, letting his fingers brush against the bulge every now and then, ignoring everything Thranduil had said. He couldn’t help but smile – his father's desire was evidently manifested between his legs.

“Legolas … you will be sore,” Thranduil stated weakly once more, but again, his son seemed to be entirely unimpressed.

“I. Do. Not. Care, Adar!” Legolas said dangerously, punctuating ever single word much louder than he had originally intended to, and Thranduil’s moral beliefs began to blur, to vanish.

What harm would come from giving in? Aye, Legolas would be sore – tomorrow and possibly the day after. But apart from that? Nothing would happen, nothing would change between them. He wasn’t so certain that would be the case, however, if he didn’t give in, as experience told him that Legolas could pout for days and days.

No, if he was honest to himself there was no valid reason to deny his lover, and he was not entirely certain if he still could, even if he wished to.

The heavy sigh that fell from Thranduil’s lips was indication enough that Legolas had finally won, and the young elf’s heart began to race.

“You are insatiable!” Thranduil muttered in feigned annoyance.

The young elf’s smile became radiant once more as he asked: “Are you complaining?”

“No – I am not.” Thranduil grinned, pulling him close. “I am merely saying that you are going to be the death of me – that is all.”

“I do not think so,” the young elf cooed, his voice heavy with arousal and alcohol. “Quite the contrary, I assume – ancient lore does say that young lovers revitalize your mind and body. Actually I am **_PREVENTING_** you from getting old.”

Oh what would the king give to slap the arrogance off his son’s face right now, as a bit of naughty play, nothing else of course. He despised actual violence as only a few did. “So you are implying that I should be forever grateful for you being such an insatiable, selfish and arrogant brat?”

Simultaneously, Thranduil’s hands trailed downwards over the silken fabric, brushing against it cautiously before both hands sneaked under his son’s tunic, touching the smooth skin that felt like velvet under his fingers. With every touch bestowed against his heated skin, Legolas’ breath hitched, his eyes darkening just a little bit further. Those words, in combination with the divine touch, elicited gooseflesh all over his heated body; oh everything felt so wonderful, so sensual, as if he was caught in a never-ending dream.

“You indeed should! After all, I am YOUR brat,” Legolas stated, unaware of the ambiguity the words held. He was indeed his, in the most intimate way possible. “And additionally: I have only learned from the best, you know… Being selfish and arrogant are usually traits connected with your demeanor.”

“Is that so?” whispered Thranduil, and with a smile on his lips he gently began to kiss his way upwards, caressing every single inch of the warm flesh he should never touch in such a forbidden manner with his lips. A hand slipped between Legolas’ legs to rub his inner thigh, until a traitorous moan fell from his mouth.

“Aye, adar-nîn,” he mumbled in response, using the formal form instead of the ‘ada’ he usually said on purpose. Large hands and long, pale fingers caressed his exposed skin, slipping beneath his tunic before they returned to his thighs. Legolas licked his lips rather nervously – something in his father’s eyes told him a wicked idea formed in his mind.

His own smile was reflected by his father, and the young elf felt as if his rib-cage would explode from his rapid heartbeat; and in his mental absence the mischievous twinkle in Thranduil’s eyes went unnoticed. Tantalizingly slowly, his hands wandered from Legolas’ chest and thigh towards his back, his fingertips drawing random patterns across the silken skin before they came to rest on his lover’s buttocks.

Without saying a single word, he tore the leggings in two, exposing his ass cheeks to the cold air.

Legolas gasped and then snapped in surprise: “WHAT …. ARE … YOU … DOING?” No he hadn’t expected **THIS** to happen, and his cry of surprise was followed by a murmured elvish curse, which made his father laugh all the more.

“Being selfish, I think,” Thranduil laughed heartedly as he caught the look of disbelief in Legolas’ eyes. “Do you mind?” he added, his deep voice smoothing over the words harboring more meaning than the young elf could comprehend.

For a moment, the young elf was simply speechless, not realizing that he had been provoking something of this sort ever since he had climbed onto his father’s lap. Legolas furrowed his brows and stared up at the ethereal being with the smug smirk still gracing his lips.

“No,” he finally managed to choke out, quivering helplessly against his lover’s body. Aye, he had wished to be taken but he had not expected **_THIS_**!

“Good,” Thranduil simply said, giving them a firm squeeze before he withdrew his hands again, finally getting rid of his robes, letting the garment slip over his arms onto the chair. Every motion of his hands was followed by his lover’s watchful eyes, until his own tunic was the next garment to fall carelessly onto the floor.

“Hannon le,” Legolas mumbled in a rather confident tone, but deep inside, fierce tremors rushed through him. Actually he was not sure where he wanted to touch first, where to place his fingers and lips; every inch of his lover’s skin was so tempting, so strangely alluring and fascinating. His hands fluttered over Thranduil’s body, flitted over the muscular chest, his forearms, his shoulders, until he cupped the handsome face between them, staring at him truly mesmerized. With a broad smile, Thranduil mimicked his son’s behavior, cupping his face in return for a moment before he placed one of his hands onto the back of Legolas’ head pulling him close.

“I love it when you are a naughty brat,” he said, his voice deep and sultry, enwrapping him like soft velvet before his tongue brushed against his son’s lower lip and darted into his mouth, teasing his tongue, his teeth before he claimed the wicked mouth completely.

 _‘Gods,’_ was all what Legolas was able to think when he opened his mouth wider in response, pushing his body against the other. He felt as if he would fracture into a million tiny pieces, his heart pounding violently against his chest as his father continued to explore every inch of his mouth.

And then, all of a sudden, it stopped.

Inwardly, Legolas cursed bitterly, not understanding what on earth was happening – wasn’t what they were doing the most beautiful thing?

Instead of offering him an explanation, Thranduil bent forward and reached out his arm towards the dinner table, every movement followed by Legolas’ wide eyes. Where he had assumed his father would take another sip of wine, he was mistaken as his slender fingers encircled the decanter filled with oil, and not a moment later he began to pour it into his hand.

Legolas mouth gasped open when he finally understood WHAT his lover was doing.

“BUT THAT IS FOR THE SALAD?” he squeaked in shock and surprise.

“Does it matter?” Thranduil asked, his words nearly lost in his laughter. “I assume if it is meant to be eaten, then it is possibly sufficient for fucking, too, don’t you think? But please feel free to get off me and fetch something else if you are not satisfied with my choice.”

Legolas blushed scarlet at the words but remained where he was, his father had a valid point after all, he had to admit.

“See,” Thranduil said with self-satisfaction, adding: “and luckily for you I have refrained to ask for my beloved spiced oil.”

Legolas’ quirked his eyebrows, not understanding what the spiced oil had to do with what they planning on doing. “Why, ada?”

He should have known, aye he should have known that Legolas would inquire – he had always been extraordinarily curios. Silently he cursed himself, as he didn’t wish to explain the very special benefits of spiced oils and other things, and also something else peaked his interest; he had already noticed it previously but now it was impossible to be ignored.

“Say, Legolas – I am merely curious, but could it be possible that using this word thrills you, arouses you beyond measure?”

Was he **_THAT_** obvious?

Legolas blushed to the tips of his pointy ears, the answer visibly displayed on his handsome face as he began to nibble his bottom lip, but not a single word left his lips as he felt his father’s oiled hands sneak back towards his buttocks.

“Say, could it be?” Thranduil inquired once more and then he touched him, the featherlike touch correlating strangely with the dark hunger in his eyes.

Legolas cried out and felt his body tremble around the first finger that was pushed past his ring of muscles, his entire body spasming. Gracious god, his father had wicked fingers, perfectly made for caressing him in the most sinful way imaginable. Ever since he had begun to desire him, he couldn’t avert his eyes from Thranduil’s manicured, jewel-adorned fingers. Often he had dreamt of how these fingers would brush against his skin, exploring every inch that existed solely to be explored.

“I... I...,” Legolas began to stutter his response, biting his lower lip in nervousness. All of a sudden he didn’t feel bold anymore, but embarrassed. Yet he knew there was no way out of this dilemma except to confess, as his father’s expecting eyes were resting upon him.

“I think ... I think...” he began, but his words were interrupted by another cry when a second finger slipped inside him.

“So?” Thranduil asked, smiling mischievously as Legolas visibly struggled with his self-control.

Oh this was truly a sight to behold, he mused, twitching his fingers just a little bit until his lover cried out again.

“VALAR! Fuck… yes… it does,” he snapped harshly, biting down on his lips not a second later, preventing him from crying out again.

Those fingers deep within him drove him mad, exploring him, touching him, stretching him once more. A shiver of delight ran down his spine, over and over each time his father’s digits brushed against the hidden gland.

The smallest nod was the only answer he received for a while, both looking at each other, even though Legolas was looking more through him; he was too scared to stare right into Thranduil’s eyes, afraid to see the rejection and judgment he expected _. ‘As if loving my own kin was not enough already,’_ he thought to himself as he wondered what more to add. It made him feel uncomfortable, and worse, he feared his father’s reaction, even if the mere thought was ridiculous.

Thranduil hadn’t considered that fact previously, but he was neither repulsed nor shocked; aye, he was a little surprised, but who wouldn’t be?

His voice was distinctly affected by the situation, and embarrassment accompanied every word he spoke. “Forgive me,” Legolas finally whispered to break the silence, which, despite the fingers buried within him, he found strangely uncomfortable.

Much to his surprise, his father simply shook his head and placed one elegant finger to Legolas’ lips, and all apologies he wished to express died in his throat. All Legolas could do was sit there, frozen, quivering, unable to comprehend what was happening when a strong arm encircled his waist and pulled him close.

“Legolas, hush now,” he whispered against his son’s silken hair, rubbing his back with soothing circles. “There is no need to be ashamed of your desires – no matter how awkward and inappropriate you deem them.”

Aye it was easier said than done – he knew all too well from personal experience. He wasn’t ashamed of his own desires, but still he hadn’t confided in his lover, afraid of Legolas’ reaction.

“But...but aren’t you...shocked,” the young elf murmured, the words barely audible. “Repulsed?”

Thranduil studied his son’s face in the soft light of the candles and in his confusion he seemed more innocent than his actions a few moments ago would suggest. Innocent, yet so utterly charming, enchanting even.

“No, even if I was a little bit surprised at first, but, after all, there is a first time for everything, isn’t there? Ûnad thand, illaid nedrin.” _(Nothing is absolute, everything is possible.)_

“Aye,” Legolas nodded, reflecting on the words his father had spoken to him; they were of undeniable beauty, and he couldn’t help but fling his arms around his lover’s neck, suppressing the urge to shed tears of joys again.

It was time to reverse their positions in terms of gathering information, Thranduil decided. “So... What else have you been thinking?” he inquired softly, knowing all too well that all defenses had long fallen once more.

“Well – first and foremost I was thinking of you.” Legolas stated with a dreamy smile as he recalled his reveries with closed eyes. “Touching you... kissing you…riding you…”

With a sly grin, Thranduil leaned back against the chair, listening closely to everything Legolas wished to confess. “Interesting – interesting indeed. But as far as I can tell you are neither kissing nor riding me, meleth-nîn,” he said with a chuckle.

The young elf opened his eyes again to look down at his lover, wetting his lips in the most seductive way.

 _‘I hate you!’_ Legolas thought, his father could be so mean! Yet, simultaneously, in a spark of boldness, he gripped Thranduil’s hair particularly tight and tilted his head so that he could start kissing along his lover’s cheekbones until his lips brushed against Thranduil’s own.

“Better?” he asked just before he claimed the tempting lips fully, pressing his heated body against his father's until he moaned in response.

 _‘Oh by the gods, you are truly your father’s son!’_ No, he hadn’t expected his son to catch a fistful of his hair and pull it. “Almost, but not quite,” he teased.

All of a sudden, Legolas’ boldness was back again and oh just how much Thranduil craved to witness it countless times. Softly he bit down on his father’s lower lip, licking along it as he let go of the strands of hair. The kiss began slowly and tentatively, an unhurried invasive exploration of one another's lips, but soon it developed into a searing caress.

Legolas was surprised by his own choice of words; he had not the slightest idea who had planted them into his wicked hands as his hands found their way between their heated bodies. “I think this can be easily changed,” he stated matter-of-factly, freeing his lover’s cock from the damp fabric.

It was hard to tell who was naughtier and more impatient in that moment, a rustling of fabric, hands against hands, skin against skin, until everything seemed to be fitting for what was about to happen, everything interrupted by breathless kisses. With a graceful motion Legolas rose from his lap, leaning in towards him until he could feel the tip of his lover’s cock brush against his stretched entrance.

Gods he wanted this so much, but his body trembled helplessly against his lover, making him unable to sink down.

“Legolas, shhh,” Thranduil whispered in a soothing voice against his son’s lips and simultaneously placed his arm around his waist to hinder him from shaking. “Relax…for me?”

The young elf smiled and then nodded, returning the kiss chastely and reaching behind to position his lover’s cock against him. Somehow it felt big, so much bigger than he remembered it, but yet so perfect in his hands. Carefully, he gave the erection a few languid strokes before he lowered himself down, slowly, ever so slowly, until the head brushed against his ring of muscles.

“ADA!” he almost screamed, inhaling sharply upon the pain that rushed through him all of a sudden.

The words Thranduil mumbled were nothing more than a breathed whisper against Legolas’ ivory skin. “Relax and breathe my love,” but somehow his lover’s mind refused to comprehend his words. He had known Legolas would be sore – and that it would hurt – but after all **_THIS_** was exactly what Legolas had wanted!

Oh, Thranduil knew he shouldn’t love the pain-stricken expression on his son’s face as much as he did, but he couldn’t look away – he simply couldn’t, staring at him mesmerized, his brows drawn down and his mouth open as Legolas lowered himself further down on his cock. Thranduil licked his lips hungrily, gripping the armrests with his hands until his knuckles shone white from the strength of his hold. He had to – the temptation to force him down was nearly irresistible, yet he knew he should not, **_MUST_** not! Still, his gaze was hungry and predatory.

 _‘Oh by all gods!’_ Legolas thought as his eyes fluttered close upon the pain that rushed through him. Even though the alcohol had numbed his senses a bit, relaxed him more than he usually was, his father’s cock felt so much bigger than it ever had. Aye, the erection had never been small and slim, but right now it was as if he would burst it went any further; it felt more like one of those thick plugs he had found earlier today than anything else.

Although he refused to complain, he couldn’t hold back anymore, screaming and squirming upon the pulsating cock, stuttering helplessly, “Too much.. too much.”

“Meleth...breathe,” he heard Thranduil whisper, but the words were entirely lost on him as he struggled to regain his composure, frustration mingling with arousal.

Oh, he wanted this! He wanted this so badly!

And he felt as if he would ruin everything, his thighs trembling from the awkward position.

Legolas swallowed hard, clutching to Thranduil’s shoulders for support as he resumed lowering himself. He had barely moved, but he was already breathless, his stomach tightening, the relentless ache between his buttocks caused by the cock buried inside him.

When he opened his eyes again, he caught his father’s gaze, regarding him like a beast does his prey, and it nearly let him forget all the pain for the moment. Indeed, Thranduil watched him with a predatory glint that sent a firework of pleasure straight to his groin and made his blood run hot.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he lowered himself down until his father’s cock was buried inside him to the last inch, both of them gasping and moaning upon the sensation.

_‘By the Valar, you are magnetic, intoxicating, stunning.’_

Only then Thranduil let go of the armrests, his hands and fingers hurting as he encircled his lover’s hips with his arms. “By all what is dear to me,” he choked out, the words interrupted by ragged moans. “You are so incredibly tight tonight.” Words failed to describe just how hot and tight the soft tissue felt around his cock, even more so when Legolas absently squeezed around him. Oh how he wished to flip him over onto the table, throwing the food and silver plates carelessly onto the floor until both would scream and writhe, overtaken by a mind-blowing orgasm in the end.

But he refrained – he already had taken him rather roughly earlier today!

He stroked his lover’s thighs, rubbing soothing circles across his back, caressing his arms, which still lingered on his shoulders.

 _‘I am patient. I can wait,’_ Thranduil told himself repeatedly, even if it was impossibly hard with the divine heat wrapped around him. But he endured, he endured for perfection.

Finally, Legolas began to move, rolling his hips carefully against him. Slowly, so maddeningly slowly, and Thranduil felt as if he would come from the young elf's presence alone!

With a warm smile he bent forward, bushing his lips against his lover’s ear and whispered the filthiest words until Legolas’ breath audibly hitched, until his cheeks burned red; only then he began to kiss his ear lobe, nibbling gently on it before he allowed his lips trail over his jaw in the direction of his son’s mouth.

“Ada, saes....kiss me,” he mumbled rather helpless, overwhelmed by all the feelings, all the emotions that rushed through him. Instantly, he felt the other’s fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, and not a second later his lips were claimed in a searing kiss that was more teeth and tongue than gentle exploration.

Oh, it was wonderful, Legolas thought, but so utterly distracting at the same time; in truth he struggled heavily to keep his up and down movements going at all. The kiss seemed to be endless in the most arousing way, and only reluctantly he withdrew a few times to catch his breath, only to continue the caress. His eyes had long fallen shut again, and myriad sensations spread throughout his body, making him feel dizzy, tingly and so much more.

“You are so lovely, so soft, so beyond perfect,” Thranduil mumbled absently, weaving his hands into Legolas’ hair.

Instead of thanking him for the utterly beautiful compliment, something entirely different began to occupy his lust-fogged mind: ‘I wish you wouldn’t care’ he had screamed in the heat of annoyance, yet he had never inquired what exactly this would mean, even though it was beyond interesting. But, after all, there still was time.

“What would ‘not-caring’ exactly mean?” he asked matter-of-factly, not even stilling his movements as he raised his voice.

In an instant, Thranduil’s eyes grew wide, and Legolas couldn’t tell if this was something good – or bad. However, he desperately hoped it would be the former.

The question was impossibly hard to answer without giving his darkest secrets and desires away; still he didn’t wish to deny his beloved again. Thranduil felt as if he had denied Legolas far too often already.

“Oh Legolas my dear,” he said, placing an affectionate kiss onto his lips before he continued to speak softly. “Taken this situation we are in right now - it would have meant that I wouldn’t have taken all the effort to prepare you sufficiently as you were still stretched from our previous encounter.” Although Thranduil had always been extremely careful not to give indications of his preferences, he felt that he had to confide into his son, at least a little.

 _‘But it would hurt even more?!’_ Legolas couldn’t help but wonder.

Legolas’ curious eyes lay upon him as he wondered how to phrase what was on his mind, and after a moment of silence he decided that simple honesty would be the right choice.

“Well, and if I think it all over, note of this would have EVER occurred. I wouldn’t have let dinner be prepared in my private quarters, I wouldn’t have spent hours talking with you – and I would never have allowed what is happening right now.”

Puzzlement was visible on his son’s face. “I mean – you sitting on my lap. What you are doing means relinquishing control and power, and you might have already assumed as much, but giving away either isn’t exactly in my nature. Strictly speaking, I simply would take what I lust after, what satisfies my own desire.”

No, it didn’t make much sense, Legolas decided, and his confusion only grew. “But it is still YOU fucking me?” he inquired, his voice ringing with disbelief and wonder.

“No, Legolas. It is not,” he explained, but having his cock deep inside his lover’s body actually didn’t help to focus on speaking. “It is **_YOU_** fucking yourself on my cock. There's a difference.”

Legolas tilted his head and looked at him quizzically as his mind processed the meaning of the words – finally stilling the movements of his hips as his own cock twitched at the filthy expressions.

Before he could say anything in response, his father continued his monologue. “See – everything that is happening happens when you decide to do it. You set the pace, you decide how much to take, how to position yourself for the perfect angle. I am merely here.”

Aye, he was right – of course he was! He always WAS. Legolas felt so incredibly naïve – never had he realized this before. Everything they were doing this evening was happening on his initiative.

The realization was apparently visibe on his face as Thranduil added, “I would never allow anything like this if I didn't know you, if I didn't trust you, meleth-nîn – possibly you wouldn’t be even here, in my private quarters.”

“So...so…” The young elf stuttered, feeling as if his mind was refusing to process and understand the words his lover had said. “You are implying that you have done something this with... with…strangers?”

Thranduil shook his head and shrugged before speaking. “Not actual strangers, no,” he confessed, hoping that Legolas would be satisfied with his answer. They weren’t actual strangers, at least, mostly not, but they weren’t friends either. “But apart from that I sadly have to confess – yes. I haven’t been sexually abstinent these past years.”

Legolas had assumed as much already. Still, the confirmation made his stomach turn violently. He wondered how his father could keep those secrets from him, as he had always assumed he knew **_EVERYTHING_** about the most important person in his life.

“But it doesn’t matter anymore, Legolas.” Thranduil confirmed in a soothing voice, catching a glimpse of sadness and disappointment through their mental bond. “You must believe me that I never cared, not a single time. It didn’t mean ANYTHING – and given what is happening between us, nothing of that sort will ever happen again. I promise.”

Legolas’ eyes flew open, shattering the dreadful illusions into a thousand pieces.“You do?”

“Yes, meleth-nîn. I promise! Those dalliances never meant anything to me,” he repeated, every word accompanied by a gentle touch, or a soft kiss. “There’s a difference between love and desire – I haven’t loved anybody since your mother’s death, yet after many years of grief and sorrow, desire awoke again. At first I dismissed it as foolish, but over the years it grew and grew, until I finally gave in. But no matter what I did, whom I bedded, I always felt strangely empty afterwards. And I often hated myself for what I had done…”

There was no reason to hate himself, Legolas thought, and in fact he did not understand anything of what his father had tried to tell him. “Why?”

“Because I felt guilty and selfish! Additionally, I felt as if I would betray the one I had loved most with what I had done. This is exactly what I meant when I said ‘an empty love can only disappoint,’ even if I would never dare to speak of love in this regard. Despite those dalliances I felt lonely, unloved – the very reason why I decided to participate in this year’s Beltaine. I haven’t done so in many centuries.”

Legolas simply nodded, failing to form a coherent thought.

“But as I have said, none of it matters anymore; all that matters now is you and me. What we feel, what we think, what we desire – what we wish to explore over the coming months, and years.”

Again, Legolas only managed to nod – he heard his father’s words, which were of incomparable beauty, but somehow his mind refused to get rid of all the thoughts that swirled through it, the incident he had witnessed a few months ago showing itself repeatedly.

It was his father’s voice, deep and rumbling against his skin that interrupted his dreadful musings. “Now, meleth-nîn. Do not let the situation be spoiled by something you might have assumed already.”

“But…” He hated himself so much for not being able to let go of the topic.

“Farn!” _(Enough)_ Thranduil said, much harsher than he had intended to, and he felt incredibly sorry for silencing his beloved in such an inappropriate way. That was at least what he thought. Legolas, however, was strangely intrigued by the change of voice, a visible shiver running down his spine.

The words tumbled nearly automatically from his bruised lips, “Goheno nin, aran-nîn,” (Forgive me, my king) Legolas whispered in submissive response, and now it was Thranduil whose breath hitched upon the words. In fact, he could hardly believe what his young lover just had said, and he couldn’t recall if his son had ever said it at all his years, and he doubted that Legolas actually **_KNEW_** the impact those words had on him.

It mattered not, as a searing heat began to rush through his body – the heat of passion and desire, the heat of lust and endless love exploding in his guts.

Simultaneously, as he claimed Legolas' lips in a passionate kiss he pulled him close, changing their angle ever so slightly until his lover moaned against his lips.

“Ada..,saes,” pleaded Legolas, not knowing what exactly he was asking for. All sadness seemed to be erased once again.

“Legolas...saes,” he said, mimicking his son’s voice, “move.”

“Oh...” Yes, he had almost forgotten about that little detail, usually being not responsible for what happened between them. But he obeyed instantly, lifting his slender body up. And pushing it down again. And up again, until the kiss was all teeth and tongue, making it almost unable to breathe, to moan.

When their lips parted, Thranduil was mouthing along his lover’s jawline, kissing down his neck and up again, until his lips brushed against Legolas’ earlobe, and with every kiss against his skin the young elf tilted his head a little further to the side, giving his consent to what he did without speaking a single word. And his father was rewarded with endless moans of pleasure from his sweet and bruised lips as the young elf completely lost himself in the caresses. Up and down. Up and down, again until he gasped for air, quivering against his father’s strong body.

“Close your eyes,” Thranduil demanded softly and the air elicited gooseflesh across his skin. When Legolas obeyed it became impossible to tell where his own body ended, where he was touched and kissed. Everything blurred, and it felt as if a thousand tongues and fingers were caressing him, teasing every inch of his skin, licking along every vein, every bone. He was a quivering mess already, and much to his surprise his body seemed to move of its own accord, supported by his lover’s hands, which rested on his hips. Repeatedly he sank down and rose again, slowly, like the endless waves of water against the distant shores, over and over again, just enough to be stimulated in the most sensual way possible.

Thranduil groaned at the flutter of his muscles around him, and Legolas opened his eyes again.

The sight that greeted him was so divine that he almost forgot to move again; his father’s lips were parted, wet with saliva, the blue eyes so dark that they resembled the black of obsidian more than their usual color of ice.

Absently, Legolas leaned in until their foreheads touched, and whispered confessions and sweet words of adoration filled the room. They had indulged in the beauty of love often those past days but this…this was so different, so divine, so enthralling – so incomparably gentle and beautiful, and the young elf certainly lacked words to voice all the emotions that were rushing through him.

Love – certainly.

Desire – yes.

But yet there was more, so much more!

“Ge melin, ada,” Legolas was barely able to say while he gripped his father’s shoulders for support as his head tipped backwards, his skin literally tingling with anticipation for the next touch.

“Melin ce, Legolas,” whispered his lover, soaking up the sight displayed right before him; his long hair cascading down his back and shoulders, his lips parted and his eyes closed.

The sight Legolas presented was burnt into his mind; never had he been more beautiful. Had he thought he knew every expression of the face that so much resembled his own. He was mistaken. Every day, no, every minute he was able to discover a new nuance, and sheer amazement gripped his soul. Carefully he weaved his hand into the silken strands as he leaned in, kissing the passion mark that blossomed on the ivory skin.

 _‘He is perfect. So perfect – in each and every way possible,’_ Thranduil thought to himself as he wrapped an arm around his waist, the other hand still playing with the golden strand of hair.

Quiet whines and heated gasps were falling from both their swollen lips, soon chasing away the tranquility of his quarters, only interrupted by sweet words of adoration and whispered confessions.

The hot and wet flesh enwrapping his cock felt so wonderful, the way Legolas writhed and flexed on his lap, clutching to his shoulders for support.

Time seemed to slip, kissing and caressing, moaning and gasping for air in the heat of the summer night, besotted by desire and summer wine. “Close...so close…” Legolas mumbled against his lips, grinding himself into oblivion.

It was cruel – and Thranduil knew it all too well; but he also knew that his words would most likely catapult his beloved over the edge.

“Legolas, you certainly will understand that I cannot let your inappropriate behavior this morning let go unpunished,” he admonished, keeping his voice as stern as possible. After all, Legolas was not the only one who was SO very close to finding his release.

For a moment Legolas froze and his eyes snapped open, puzzlement and fear spread across his handsome face. Yet there was something else, Thranduil noticed. Desire? Curiosity? Anticipation even? He couldn’t exactly tell what his son was thinking.

His voice was low, dangerous even as he continued. “I have said no – more than once! And all you did was to ignore my demand…”

Legolas’ eyes grew even wider than before, and absently he gave his father an accusing glare. “But you have **_never_** punished me?!” he mumbled rather shyly, his voice filled with disbelief.

“And now I have to pay dearly for it as it seems,” laughed Thranduil with a devious smirk.

Legolas was at a loss, it seemed, and Thranduil was smugly proud of everything he was doing, no matter just HOW cruel it was. Oh, the subtle ways of orgasm denial would never cease to amaze him. “But...but…haven’t you enjoyed it?” Legolas inquired weakly, his words nothing more than an insecure whisper.

“Oh I have; still, I couldn’t focus throughout the entire council meeting, and that was certainly your fault, my dear..”

Legolas heaved a great sigh. _‘Poor you,’_ he thought in silence and added aloud, “but ..”

The devious smirk only broadened as the first word fell from his lips, his voice soft and smooth as silk. “No ‘buts’ – you will join me in the next council meeting, ‘wearing’ a plug of my choice underneath your clothes.”

Legolas' mouth fell open – his lover could hardly mean it, could he?

The answer to his silent question was instant: “You have understood very well, Legolas,” stated Thranduil with a vicious smirk on his lips. “You will wear it as long as the meeting endures, and you will make certain that you won’t lose it on our way to the council.”

Legolas gasped audibly, and his cock twitched between them; it was cruel but so utterly arousing at the same time – and finally he understood that his lover was shamelessly toying with him.

“Those meetings are usually extraordinarily boring affairs, but next time I can at least see your internal struggle, how you shift back and forth on your seat, see in your eyes how desperately you wish to slip your hands between your legs...” The little detail that he planned to ravish him on the council table afterwards remained unsaid, otherwise it wouldn’t count as punishment anymore, he assumed.

Absently, Legolas reached between their bodies to give his weeping cock a few strokes – he felt as if he would burst within seconds.

“No hands – you will come from my cock alone,” Thranduil admonished and simultaneously pushed his hand away, which earned him a sigh of frustration.

Oh this was so cruel, yet so arousing at the same time.

“You...you…” Legolas began, but the words died on his lips when his lover continued. “But before said meeting, meleth-nîn, you will fuck yourself right before me while I watch. Until you are close...so very close...until you think you can take no more, until your muscles clench around the plug – just like they are now around my cock. However, in contrast to now, I won’t allow you to come.”

Involuntarily, Legolas’ thighs tightened on either side of Thranduil’s legs, and his eyes fluttered closed again, shattering the illusion as he came violently, sparking a firework in his mind.

“Ada… Gods,” Legolas panted, throwing his head back, riding out his lover’s cock with a little more intensity, gripping the broad shoulders for support as his seed spurted between them, crying out his lover’s name over and over until he felt as if he would pass out from exhaustion, until his lover’s warm seed filled him, until sharp fingernails dug deep into his back. He didn't care anymore, slumping against him, his chest heaving as he panted and gasped for air, riding the blissful waves of orgasm in the arms of the one he had desired for many months.

“Oh my dear,” Thranduil chuckled equally breathlessly, placing soft kisses along his lover’s neck. “You never cease to amaze me.” And it was nothing but the truth; every time they loved each other it was so very different, so enthralling, and beyond comparison – it was their tale of falling in love, over and over again. Finally, he felt whole again.

When they were finished, both were covered in sweat and cum, sticking and clinging to the other, unable and unwilling to move for what seemed like an eternity, kissing and caressing until sleep began to overwhelm them.


	4. Galion’s Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After long and boring days of recovery, Legolas finally feels better and takes a stroll through the royal gardens, where he meets Galion by accident. After a flare of jealously and a resulting tantrum, he finally finds out about Galion’s long harbored secret, and a vague idea begins to form in his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **[Tags]** \- Galion, character development, mention of: hetero attraction, sibling incest, character death.
> 
>  **[OCs]** \- Findíel (Daughter of Trees) – Galion’s sister
> 
>  **[Inspiration]** – For Thranduil’s royal garden, I certainly found some inspiration in the Game of Thrones episode, where Sansa is in Highgarden.
> 
>  **[Music]** \- Well, I cannot write without music at all, and whilst my playlists are usually rather random I feel extremely inspired by certain songs whilst writing specific content. “Nick Cave and Kylie Minogue – Where the wild roses grow”, “Dreadful Shadows – Dead can wait” AND “Subway to Sally – Kleid aus Rosen” have kept me good company during the scenes between Galion and his sister, together with some other rather dark songs.
> 
>  **[Beta]** \- Thank you once again, [OohLaGalion](http://archiveofourown.org/users/OohLaGalion/pseuds/OohLaGalion) for the amazing beta work on this chapter :)

*****

**Galion’s Secret**

**~~**

**A few days later**

**~**

Blissful fatigue immediately overwhelmed Legolas as soon as the waves of climax finally ebbed and his heartbeat had slowed down just a little.

Heated and sticky skin against skin, tangled hands and hair, their breaths mingling together, soft fingertips soothingly dancing across his back.

Legolas felt like the happiest elf on earth, a content playing on his bruised lips; but then again, it was as if he never had been more exhausted – not after an intense match of sparring on the training grounds, not after the worst border patrol in pouring rain he'd had to endure, soaking wet and freezing afterwards.

Only moments later, the exhausted elf drifted off into a divine slumber right on his father’s lap.

Silently, Thranduil rose to his feet with the sleepy form of his beloved in his arms, pushing the chair backwards with his foot.

“Oh Legolas, my dear,” he mumbled as he placed an affectionate kiss on top of the young elf’s head, which rested against his shoulder. “You certainly have outdone yourself tonight – no, today.”

Even if he knew that Legolas would hardly wake whilst being carried towards their sleeping room, he still avoided every possible sound or disturbance. One of his fingertips trailed delicately down the length of Legolas' spine until his palm flattened against the small of his back, a motion that earned him an appreciative sigh.

With a dreamy smile gracing his lips, he lay the sleeping form in his arms down onto the silken sheets, taking a moment to appreciate the beauty right before him: the soft skin that glowed almost golden in the light of the candles, the bruised and swollen lips that were slightly parted – and the bright and angry passion marks spread evenly over his collar-bone, on his neck beneath his pointy ear and beyond.

“Losto vae, meleth-nîn. You have earned your pleasant and recreational slumber,” Thranduil whispered as he lowered the covers over his lover, finally shielding the tempting nudity from himself. Despite the fact that they had just made love, he wanted to run his hands over every part of the golden skin, press into him until tiny pearls of sweat would tickle down his spine, until they would cry out each other’s names. At his own thoughts, his eyes grew wide – he had been always insatiable to some extent, but this was evolving to an entirely different level!

After taking a relaxing bath, Thranduil slipped beneath the covers and buried his face in the crook of his lover’s neck, trying with closed eyes to breathe in every nuance of his skin, mapping his body with gentle fingertips. However, exhaustion soon began to overwhelm him, and it wasn’t long before he drifted off into an equally relaxing slumber.

 

**~~**

It was long after midday when Legolas finally awoke the following day. He was exhausted, hungover, and sore – so utterly sore. Muscles he hadn't even known existed burned like searing flames; parts of his body that usually did not obtain much attention ached constantly.

He was barely able to sit or to walk.

The following day.

The day after.

The day thereafter.

The young elf had cursed bitterly, contemplated and frowned at the situation and the entire world in frustration for many hours, especially when his father was present, in the hopes of snatching away some compassion and words of sympathy. However, much to his disappointment, Thranduil did **_NOT_** pity him – not at all – and Legolas did not understand the world anymore. (The truth was that Thranduil DID pity him – but had decided for once that he wouldn't give into his son’s pleas, letting him learn his lesson.) The more he complained about his misery, the less his lover wished to hear of it, and from time to time it even seemed as if he was mocking him for his insatiable behavior.

 _‘I warned you, but you would not listen. Remember.’_ Over and over those words echoed through Legolas’ head. _‘In fact, it seems as if you never listen to my advice, Legolas. Especially when desire overcomes you and you become insatiable – and insolent.’_

The twinkle in his father’s eyes and the knowing smirk only made it worse, together with the fact that Thranduil was absolutely right in everything – and oh how he let him suffer. With every day that passed Legolas’ frustration grew.

And when his father suggested a pleasant ride into the forest with a hearty laugh, he literally could have slapped him right across the face.

He was bored, so very bored not being able to go outside in the most beautiful days of early spring, not being able to follow his beloved around – or to do anything apart from sitting around. Well, lying around, to be more precise, because sitting actually hurt, too!

The young elf spent most of his time lying either in his father’s bed or on the divan in front of the fireplace, condemned to do nothing apart from watching the clouds journey across the horizon. Occasionally, when he knew his father would be gone for a while, he retrieved the book he had stolen a few weeks ago from Thranduil’s wardrobe, and skimmed through the pages with a strange fascination; but actually looking at the rather suggestive artwork only made everything worse!

No matter how much he wanted to do anything of that sort, he simply couldn’t, and he doubted that his father would give into his pleas – during the past few days Thranduil would hear exactly none of it.

Oh, he was condemned to suffer, to be bored for the rest of his immortal life, of that the dramatic elf was certain. (Of course, Legolas knew he was absolutely exaggerating, but he felt like the most ignored, most desperate being in existence – and he enjoyed drowning in his self-proclaimed pool of misery.)

**~~~**

**Finally!**

As the sun announced the fourth day after their frantic explorations, Legolas felt whole again. Relaxed. Filled with a bustling energy, which had built up over the course of the past few days.

Aye, he felt as if he could uproot the entire forest. Lazily he stretched against the sheets, rolling onto his side shortly afterwards to wrap his arm around his lover; but instead of warm skin, his hand only brushed against rough parchment and cold silk.

Immediately his eyes snapped open. His father had not said a single word about having to leave early the night before.

Thranduil must have been gone for a while, having soundlessly sneaked away like a thief in the night – especially as it was not even late when Legolas himself he had woken up. Carefully, he retrieved the folded paper, and with it in his hand he rolled backwards until he came to rest on his back again and began to read with drowsy eyes.

 

_Aur vaer, my dear_

_Forgive me that you will find our bed deserted when you awake,_

_but I couldn’t find the heart to disturb your peaceful slumber this morning._

_You looked so beautiful, so innocent (even though I know you are not!), so relaxed and sated, entirely content with the world._

_I dearly hope that you will finally begin to feel better._

_Sadly, I cannot linger between the ruffled sheets as I wish to, for there are a few matters requiring my presence today. Do not wait for me, as I do not expect to return before late afternoon._

_Enjoy the day, go outside if it pleases you. The sun already announces a wonderful day as I write these words. Resume your sparring sessions – or not. In fact, do whatever your heart desires._

_I am already beginning to miss you, T._

_PS: ‘Do whatever your heart desires' certainly excludes using my secret stash of toys._

 

Whilst Thranduil had written the words, the first rays of the sun had slowly begun to pierce through the starlit sky, announcing the new day; with every passing day, the hours of sunshine got longer, and soon it would be the peak of summer – an important date in his realm, demanding much attention and planning beforehand.

Despite the early hour of the day, it was pleasantly warm already, a gentle breeze dancing through the dense leaf canopy of his enchanted forest, the air still heavy with the scents of night-blossoming flowers and the subtle notes of fresh dew. The king slowly breathed in and out, admiring the indescribable beauty of his realm. And the beauty that lay in his bed right before him, still soundly asleep. The temptation to touch and kiss him was strong, but for once he refrained – too beautiful Legolas was whilst wandering the realms of dreams. And those dreams were beyond enchanting, Thranduil had to admit whilst he observed them through their mental bond. In fact, he had never done so after that fateful night two weeks ago, deeming it still entirely inappropriate to invade his son’s privacy.

Despite the forbidden happiness that occupied the king’s heart, the strange nature of this marriage was beyond him. The dreadful words of his dreams echoed constantly through his head, no matter how much he read, how much he contemplated, he did not come to a sufficient conclusion. The entire concept did not make sense, and it troubled him deeply.

There was nobody he could confide in, nobody he could share his sorrows with – apart from Legolas, who did not see the problem. At all. No, of course he couldn’t blame his beloved son for his youthful carefreeness and happiness, but Thranduil himself had seen too many horrors, too much dread and sorrow over the many centuries. He certainly did not need an ill spell befalling his family again.

 

With every line that Legolas read, his smile only grew; where he had been frustrated only moments ago, his heart now leapt in joy. Even when his eyes fell on the last sentence it persisted. Actually, these few lines were the cutest and most endearing words he had ever read, especially as they had been written for him, and him alone! By the one who mattered most in his life on so many levels: as a father, as a friend, and now – finally – as a lover. Life could not be any better, Legolas thought with a dreamy smile as he reread the letter again.

 _My dear._ The written endearment made his heart flutter, but not as much as when Thranduil said it aloud, whispering it in his ear.

Slowly, as they began to settle into their life together, there were still often times when Legolas could hardly believe was a reality. Their relationship was simply too perfect to be real (even if he did not have any comparison), too surreal to be understood, too forbidden to share his joy and laughter with anybody outside the sheltered walls – except for Galion, whom he had not seen in a while.

No, he would not use one of the delicately crafted toys, even if he was no longer sore from their frantic lovemaking. Nor would he go outside to resume his training as this would most likely mean meeting the one elf in the kingdom whom he despised with all his heart, and he was not certain if he could control his hatred and fury.

But he would go outside for a stroll in the royal gardens.

Ever since his father had explained to him the differences and subtleties of the various courting rites that existed, Legolas wished to act accordingly. After all, he was helplessly in love and would do literally anything to paint that charming and captivating smile onto his lover’s lips. The entire concept was enchanting, so utterly beautiful in its innocence – and it was the first time ever (and hopefully the only time) he could do such a thing.

In fact, he had already been wanting to pick a heavenly-smelling bouquet of flowers these past days – but without being able to walk properly, doing so was entirely out of the question, especially as suspicious looks were certain to follow. Gossip was highly popular among the elves of the realm, and often Legolas had listened to rumors that had spread like wildfire through the corridors.

After rereading the letter once more, staring at the intricate handwriting, he jumped out of bed with a broad smile on his lips, his eyes sparkling in the sunshine that fell through the large windows of Thranduil’s bedroom.

Today, life was good, and he was bustling with energy and ideas.

Quickly, the young elf dressed himself in a plain green tunic and black leggings – some of the few things he had already moved into his father’s chambers, apart from the stolen book. These clothes were certainly sufficient for what he had planned, he decided, as he did not expect to meet anybody in the gardens, anyway. Aye, a few of his father’s guards every now and then, maybe some of the helping hands that ran the kingdom unseen, but nobody of greater importance.

With skillful hands Legolas braided his hair as he always did – a single, plain braid at the back of his head to keep the strands out of his face. Nothing intricate, nothing fancy – certainly lacking the delicacy of those courtship braids – but undoubtedly less traitorous.

Once he was satisfied with his outer appearance, he sneaked out of the royal chambers like a thief in the night, relieved that no guards had seen his awkward behavior.

 

**~~~**

A broad smile graced Legolas' lips as he strolled out of his father’s palace, greeting the soldiers who guarded the heavy gate that led outside. The forest, ancient as the world itself, lay right in front of him, spreading over the land like a sea of green. His father’s forest that so much resembled the king himself, deeply connected by an invisible bond that had grown over the years – both strong and ancient, enchanting and dangerous at the same time. Often had Thranduil told him about the emotions that came from the forest, but Legolas had never completely understood what exactly this meant; maybe he never would.

Briefly, Legolas closed his eyes and drew in a deep, steady breath before he began to wander soundlessly on bare feet across the damp soil in the direction of the royal gardens, grateful that nobody crossed his path, as he wished to enjoy the tranquility of this place alone. The air was heavy with countless smells, deriving from the flowers and the orchards that stood close to the gardens, no more than a few hundred meters away; soon apples, peaches and pears would hang from the thick branches.

The memories he had of his mother were sparse – small snippets of her beautiful face, her fragranced hair; memories he could not even be certain were his own, or if they stemmed from his father’s or brother’s tales about her. Memories that never failed to make him sad; beautiful she was, her golden hair flowing freely in the summer breeze, her laughter a heart-warming sound that was not easily forgotten by any who had ever heard it, her voice soft and gentle. So often Legolas had wished in the past that they would have known each other better, would have been able to spend time together as actual family.

Even if he knew the past could not be undone, the image of his mother sitting in this garden surrounded by rose bushes with him on her lap returned to him, again and again, each time he had visited the royal gardens. Thranduil, however, had not visited his own gardens in many years, and if he had done so, he had been very reluctant.

The first years after her death, his father had worn his sorrow like a crown, visibly displayed for all to see, his young son among them, and the image pained him. Now worse than ever.

Legolas closed his eyes once more, trying to chase his memories away before he turned around and resumed his journey along the narrow path that led further into the sacred gardens.

Vast and wide they lay before him, with a terrace-like structure nestled against the slope of the hill, and Legolas took a moment to admire the indescribable beauty. Bright sunlight streamed through the leafy canopy, showering him with its warmth. It was the beginning of summer, the air oddly thick and fragrant, but still pleasantly cool. Raked gravel paths winded through tidy rows of irises, lavender and daisy-like blue flowers, of which Legolas had forgotten the name. The brilliant blue was blinding in the sunshine, and he couldn’t help but be reminded of his father’s eyes in the throes of passion.

The rows were divided by a tiny waterfall that cascaded over the terraces, splashing and gushing over the dark stone, entering a teardrop-shaped pool with water lilies at its end. Bees and other insects were droning back and forth between flowers that were in full bloom, their petals shining in the colors of the rainbow.

Legolas was no gardener and not specifically interested in flowers, but he certainly had a sense of beauty – and the king’s royal garden was breathtakingly beautiful. From the level where the elf stood, small pathways led in different directions, the stream meandering through stalks of flowers and high grass in its middle. The terraces were neat and tidy – somebody must have taken great care with their arrangement. Yet the Elvenprince preferred the more natural parts of the gardens, where the grass was high, ivy climbing over ancient stone walls where rose bushes heavy with blossoms stood under the magnificent shades of beeches. Every now and then, benches made out of stone could be found evenly spread across the gardens, inviting the wanderer to take a little rest beneath the leaf canopy and for special occasions, a intricately crafted pavilion with cozy chairs was available.

Scents of lavender and wild jasmine filled his nose, mingling with the freshness of freshly mown grass – a smell that again reminded him of his childhood days. Oh, how he had loved to sit on the earth, throwing the grass tufts all around him, over him and others nearby, squeaking in delight when it got caught in his long hair. For a few seconds, he was tempted to do so again, but given the fact that he was alone meant it would only be half the fun so he refrained, and began to search for the befitting flowers instead. Perfection – nothing else would be appropriate or tolerated. (That was, at least what the young elf thought, even if he was completely wrong in his assumption.)

The mental image of how the bouquet of flowers should look had already formed in his head a few days ago, but now that he was actually arrange it, he had not the slightest idea how to proceed. His eyes wandered back and forth between the ivy that covered the floor, the scented lavender and the rose bushes whose blossoms had different colors. Carefully, he began to cut off small branches of ivy, which would form the base of his bouquet. Then, several stalks of lavender followed, and he couldn’t help but think if the majority of it was harvested for the production of, well, the special oil that every elf of the valley seemed to possess.

The thought alone made him smile, even more so as he breathed in a nose-full of the triggering smell; never, not as long as he had lived, would his mind fail to connect the smell to his own experiences. Now Legolas was more confident, but the bouquet still looked somewhat pathetic – certainly not suited for his father’s royal chambers. A few white and rosé flowers from the nearby rose bushes, together with some fern leaves as green for the arrangement. Legolas was already quiet satisfied with what he had produced when he heard some rustling behind one of the bushes, but immediately dismissed the thought that somebody could have followed him. It was absurd; not a single soul seemed to be outdoors on this magnificent summer day.

 

**~~**

For long moments Galion watched the Elvenprince in silence from the hidden bench he'd been sitting on for many hours, reading his favorite book and wondering what exactly Legolas was doing in the royal gardens. At first, he had assumed the young elf was simply in search of some solitude, but soon it became obvious that he was actually picking flowers for a beautiful bouquet.

For whom, Galion could only guess.

“Oh, if I were you, I would go for those,” Galion said, announcing his presence as he stepped away from the bench and into Legolas’ view. He pointed towards a bush of wild roses, heavy with blinding white blossoms just as Legolas’ startled expression met his eyes. The young elf had been so preoccupied with what he was doing that he had not noticed him before. “Your father loves the scent,” he added with a warm smile, recalling the wondrous, rich flower arrangements Mirkwood’s Queen had often made.

Actually, Legolas had wondered for a while where the divine scent was coming from, but couldn’t locate the flower, and so he was grateful for Galion’s advice. At least for the first few seconds, before his mind began to process the information.

Not a moment later, after his gratitude had vanished, his eyes grew wide - how on earth did Galion know?! There was only one explanation – at least in his jealous mind - and the young elf gave his friend a quizzical stare.

Galion quirked his eyebrows in response, unable to read the emotions that danced through Legolas’ eyes. “Believe me, he loves both the smell as well as the color,” he tried to explain. After all, he only wished to help him, and his presence in the garden was just another coincidence.

The thought itself was ridiculous to the core, and deep inside Legolas knew it already. Still, a strong feeling of jealousy began to rush through him – the exact he emotion he always felt when he saw Fergil wandering through the corridors and hallways. But Galion? His friend, the one person who knew his darkest secret, who had actually HELPED him before Beltaine Night? The one person, apart from his father, he trusted most, who had been a constant through his entire life?

“Have you,” Legolas began calmly, but soon he lost any decency and his voice changed into a yelling shriek. “YOU BEDDED MY FATHER!” Without giving his words a second thought, the accusation spilled freely over his lips.

With every word that flew over his friend’s lips, Galion’s stare of disbelief only increased, and his face went blank. Certainly he must have misheard Legolas, or Legolas must mistake him for somebody else. No, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t believe that the young elf was implying what he had just heard.

“Legolas!” Galion hissed back in equal annoyance, trying to keep the hurt and sadness his friend’s word had elicited under control. “Calm down and come to your senses!” he warned, glaring into the blond elf’s direction. Again he was thankful that the royal gardens were deserted.

But apparently Legolas wanted to hear none of it!

The words only fueled his blind rage, and he forgot everything Galion had ever done for him in that moment.

“HOW WOULD YOU KNOW OTHERWISE!?” He screamed, and the other elf indeed wondered if a physical assault would follow – he had already witnessed it once, two weeks ago when he had found out about the secret of his Beltaine night.

Even if it was often not visible, Legolas was truly his father’s child – there was no denial and never before had it shown so clearly. They had the same dark eyes when enraged, the same flaring temper (even if it seemed as if Legolas had better control over it), and the same maddening jealousy. In fact, Galion did not know a single elf alive who was more jealous than Mirkwood’s king; a wrong look towards his Queen was enough for an infamous outburst to follow. Aye, he should have known that Legolas might also have inherited this trait.

Galion despised violence to the core, but right now he wished for nothing more than to slap the young elf right across his face for his insolent behavior, but he refrained, clenching his fists against his sides.

Instead, he hissed icily: “Because I am his butler? Because I go in and out his quarters countless times a months, year after year, century after century? Because I **_KNOW_** which flowers your mother picked to decorate the chambers all those years ago?” Here, Galion paused his monologue briefly, to give the young elf the chance to process the words he had just said, observing his facial expression closely. Something indeed began to work beneath the surface, as the Prince nibbled his lower lip, but apparently it was not yet enough. “Because I am his friend as I am yours? I have lived in this realm for many centuries, and now stop being ridiculous, will you?” he added, hoping that his words had the desired effect.

Legolas’ face was glaring red from both rage and embarrassment, shame now visibly spread across his handsome face. Never before had he wished that the ground would open up and swallow him whole as fervently as he did right now.

Had he actually accused and insulted the only person who had shown nothing but gentleness and understanding for his plight?

Who had taken care of him for so many years?

He couldn’t explain what madness had occupied his mind only moments ago, but the auburn-haired elf’s stare was proof enough that he had said those words aloud.

“Goheno nin (Forgive me),” he mumbled in shameful defeat. Sometimes it would indeed be better to think before speaking aloud, Legolas thought to himself – but he did not act accordingly a moment later. For some reason, he couldn’t let go of the matter entirely. “So... so you haven’t?” he asked insecurely.

 _‘O,h Legolas, love is a dangerous game; the love you have chosen, especially, and jealously only makes it worse,’_ Galion thought with a sigh.

The relationship the young prince had with his father was as forbidden as anything could ever be, something nobody must ever find out – not in this kingdom, nor anywhere else. Yet Galion doubted that his friend would keep his secret for long; such emotional outbursts resulting from a mere suggestion alone would certainly provoke suspicious questions – and worse! Fergil’s questions a few days ago had been bad enough, and gladly Galion had been able to come up with something quickly.

Aye, Legolas was young, innocent and possibly insecure in the matters of love, but this was no excuse for such a behavior, putting their newfound relationship at stake.

“No, of course not!” said Galion aloud in utter determination. In fact, he had not heard anything more awkward in many years.

Absently, Legolas began to nibble his lower lip again and averted his eyes, looking down to the ground where he stood. “Is it **_THAT_** absurd for me to ask?”

“Look at me whilst talking,” Galion admonished him, adding quickly, “and to be honest, yes it certainly is.”

“Why?” Legolas asked in response, lifting his eyes from the ground again, following his friend’s request even if he could hardly meet his gaze in his embarrassment. “My father has taken lovers after his wife’s death – he has told me so. So forgive me for wondering… why not?I mean, you are handsome, he trusts you and respects you. It would only make sense… “

 _‘Yes, Legolas. He has taken lovers, believe me I have seen and heard enough about that for many years, but I fear he has not told you which sort of lovers those were, and what exactly happened between them.’_ Galion thought with some bitterness, but this was not his tale to tell, so he remained quiet regarding the matter. Possibly, as their relationship progressed, the king might tell his beloved himself exactly what had happened all those past years in the safety of the heavy stone walls. Actually, the Silvan elf suspected that Legolas had only a glimpse of idea what Thranduil truly enjoyed between the sheets; maybe it was for the better.

“You are correct, Legolas. We are friends, he trusts me (finally!) and maybe due to all the reasons you have mentioned nothing had ever happened between us. Your father was never after a true relationship after your mother died – all those lovers he took were desperate attempts to forget his loneliness, to ease the sorrows that occupied his heart. Things he has never found as a result of those fleeting nights, yet he was not ready to truly fall in love again, and, to be honest, I feared he never would,” Galion explained, casting Legolas another dark look.

For a long moment Legolas remained quiet as his mind processed his friend’s words. “So... is this the reason why you never said anything against my futile crush, why you said what you did, then?” he finally asked.

Galion nodded, before he answered the young elf’s question truthfully. “Yes, partly. It was one of my motivations, but not the only one.”

Now it was Legolas who quirked his eyebrows, unwittingly mimicking his father’s facial expression. What other motivations Galion could have had was beyond him. “Partly?” He inquired, not understanding what this meant. Apparently he had a lucky hand for conversation partners speaking in riddles.

A sigh escaped Galion’s lips – he had already given away much more than he had ever wished to say, enough to peak the other’s interest.

“Aye, Legolas,” he confirmed, nodding his head once again that his long, auburn hair flew freely. “To some extent it was worry about your father and his foolishness, but to be honest this was only a very small amount why I did what I have done. It has to do with my past.”

Legolas noticed that he had never questioned his friend about his past, had not even thought about it before. Galion has always been around, keeping him company since his birth, and the young elf had simply taken his presence as granted. And, additionally, Thranduil had never spoken about Galion’s past, either, so the young elf had assumed that he had been born in the kingdom many years ago. The realization that he did not even know how old Galion actually was gnawed at him – what a poor and selfish friend he was!

“But you have always served my father?” he asked, but the words sounded more like a statement than an actual question, mostly to downplay his shame.

“Yes, that I have,” Galion confirmed with a smile – after all, Legolas was not completely wrong in his assumption. “And before that I worked for your grandfather in Amon Lanc. When King Oropher decided to move the entire kingdom away from there towards this place, I followed him, having already been in his service for many years. Even if you might assume it, just as anybody else does, I wasn’t born in Oropher’s halls, but at the edge of the forest, close to the Ered Mithrin.”

Legolas eyes grew wide as he listened to his friend’s words. Galion must be old, so much older than he had ever thought his father’s butler was. “I never knew…” he commented, surprise clearly audible in his voice.

“Only very few know that I wasn’t born in the Halls of Amon Lanc, Legolas. And to be honest, no more need ever to know.”

“But why? There is no shame in coming from the area near the Ered Mithrin...” stated Legolas, even if he had never been there himself. The area was located pretty far from his father’s kingdom and except for a few outposts that he had never visited, he knew exactly nothing of that region. At least, not more than he had learned in some lessons with his private teacher. _‘The Places and Histories of Middle-Earth’ –_ a dusty, heavy tome smelling of ancient parchment and war, certainly one of his teacher’s favorite books.

“No it is not,” Galion interrupted him immediately, before the young elf could spin his thoughts any further. “In fact it is a beautiful area, where I come from – gushing rivers, scented flowers – wild orchids among them, the snow-covered mountains in the distance.” Briefly, he allowed his eyes to fall shut as all the memories came back to him at once, filling his mind with the images and scents of his childhood. As often as possible, he simply tried to chase away the beautiful images, afraid of that what certainly would follow. “The simple reason why I avoid speaking about it is that my origin will raise questions. Questions that I am not willing to answer,” said Galion. Many centuries ago, during his first years in Amon Lanc occasionally somebody had questioned his origins, and Galion had always been afraid that somebody might not believe the story he had made up – fortunately, it had never happened, and soon the other elves had simply accepted his presence among them, just as Legolas did.

“And what if **_I_** asked?” The Prince inquired softly, shooting him a coy glance from under his lashes.

 _‘Oh Legolas, you are such an incredible tease.’_ The dark-haired elf could easily understand why Thranduil could **_NEVER_** could refuse his son anything. Those puppy eyes were heartbreaking – and impossible to ignore for long.

“Well,” he began, nodding his consent simultaneously. “It is a different matter with you, Legolas. If you asked, I would tell you how I came into your grandfather’s service all those years ago.”

“I **_AM_** asking…” The curiosity was visibly displayed in the young prince’s eyes, and the words simply fell from his lips without much delay.

Galion had assumed as much, and oddly a part of him was relieved that he could finally speak about everything that occupied both his heart and mind. “Very well – then come, and I will tell you my story,” he said with a warm smile, even if he was struggling with all the emotions that rushed through him. Was it wise? He couldn’t say yet, but if he did not at least try, he would never now.

Legolas’ inquiry came instantly. “Come where?” he asked, and it was as if his lips twitched slightly in insecurity.

“There,” responded Galion, pointing in the direction opposite from which Legolas had come. “To the end of the garden. There is a remote area where usually nobody ever goes, and I certainly wish for privacy.” Often, the Silvan elf had the impression that he was the only person in Thranduil’s halls that visited the place he spoke of, even if he found it by far the most pleasant spot in the entire kingdom.

Legolas simply nodded and followed his friend’s footsteps along the narrow path that led to the area Galion had in mind, but he couldn’t help but wonder what his old friend might tell him. The words had been secret, mysterious even, and he wondered if the past had something to do with his illicit relationship. It was an odd thought, Legolas had to admit, but why else would he make such a secret of his heritage?

 _‘He didn't kill his parents, did he?’_ Involuntarily, the prince’s eyes went wide and he shook his head, unseen by the other. No, such thoughts were ridiculous – slaying one's own kin was absolutely uncommon among the first children of Ilúvatar – unheard of, even. Especially as the descendent of one growing up in Thingol’s court. Heavily, Legolas tried to chase away the dreadful thoughts; no, Galion, understanding and gentle, could hardly be a kinslayer!

Instead, he tried to focus on the beautiful surroundings, the hidden path that lay in front of him, the unfamiliar flowers growing everywhere, flowers he had probably never seen before.

Yes, the Silvan elf was right; he himself did not even know that this piece of tranquil heaven, fenced by ivy-covered stone walls, existed. There was a small bench to sit on in the shade of a large weeping willow, a little fountain that splashed and gushed relentlessly in the middle, secluded and hidden from prying eyes. Woodruff blossomed everywhere instead of the usual grass or ivy, impregnating the air with its unique scent. And what was this? Orchids blossoming near the little stream – this place was beautiful, almost magical.

Galion sat down onto the bench, gesturing for Legolas to follow suit, even if he wasn’t sure if Legolas had noticed him in his state of mind.

But he had, and Legolas sat down beside him shortly after, cross-legged, placing the bouquet in his hands aside for the moment.

Curious blue eyes rested upon the Silvan elf, already eager to listen to everything his friend had to say. “You said that my father’s loneliness was only part of the reason why you have done what you did on several occasions ... And let me tell you, I will be forever grateful for what you have done for me, Galion. Still, right now ... I am wondering, what was the other motive?” the Elvenprince asked, casting his friend an encouraging glance.

He didn’t know what sorrows lay upon Galion’s heart but deep inside, Legolas already knew that it was not something he spoke of on a regular basis.

Once he started, the words would simply flow freely, of that Galion was certain, but right now an invisible barrier still persisted. For many centuries his lips had been sealed, and it was hard, so utterly hard to speak of it now, even if he trusted Legolas.

With a heavy sigh he began to tell his tale in a calm voice, trying to keep the emotions at bay: “There was a time ... when I felt the same as you feel about one you should never love in such a manner…”

“About my father?” Legolas interrupted him, the old jealously resurfacing for a second.

“No,” Galion shook his head, sadness visible in his brown eyes. “About my sister. I did not even know about your father’s existence all those centuries ago.”

The place where he had grown up had been utterly remote, almost cut off from civilization. Tiny granges scattered across the landscape, hidden in the darkness of the forest along the ever flowing river. When he was young, not older than a few years, he had thought their settlement was the only place existing on earth; they had had everything what they needed – the vast forest right before their doorstep, a constant supply of berries, mushrooms, eggs, and, around the house, a little garden where his mother grew vegetables and barley, occasionally going to the river to fish or hunt.

The children’s life, they had been three in the household – and elder brother and Galion and his twin-sister, Findíel. When they were young, lacking the typical features of male and female, their brother had often mistaken them for each other so alike they looked like. Often, they would play, all three of them together at the riverbanks, laughing and throwing stones into the gurgling floods until the sun would set above them.

Their lives had been peaceful and tranquil, dictated by the seasons of the forest, by nature and its riches.

Legolas swallowed hard, and involuntarily his eyes widened. He had expected many things that Galion might say – but this? No, he couldn’t quite believe it, however, that he was no murderer of his own kin he was grateful for.

“So ... so ... so you loved your own sister?”

Both Galion and Findíel had loved their elder brother equally, but the relationship between them had never been as intense as their own; they understood each other through glances and gestures alone; sometimes not even those were needed, as an invisible bond had connected them. Whenever one of the twins had been gone for a while, hunting or visiting the nearest settlement, the other would suffer from loneliness, sensing every emotion clearly as if it was their own. At first, they had deemed it normal for kin so close, but as the years progressed, realization had hit them.

“Yes, my twin sister,” Galion replied to extinguish Legolas’ doubts as Findíel’s face began to show before his inner eye. “And she loved me equally. At first, I dismissed what I felt towards her as a foolish adolescent state of mind, but as time progressed, my feelings only got more intense. I couldn’t look at her without having butterflies swirl through my stomach, I couldn’t speak with her having my heart racing. She was the most beautiful and kindest person I have ever known…”

The memory of the first time she had touched him his arm, letting her fingers linger a moment too long, still burned against his skin. Galion remembered it as if it was yesterday, and it sent a shiver down his spine. Of course, they had touched each other a million times before in childish play; however, this time had been so different, electrifying his entire body, setting ablaze something within him he had not even known existed.

 _‘Galion, I have missed you’_ Findíel had said, her voice filled with sorrow, a pain he had felt in his heart as well.

They had still been some years away from reaching majority, but even if they hadn’t known anything about love and sexual extraction, it was certainly what they had felt, being drawn to each other like the moths to a flame. No explanation did he have what happened to him in this moment, but he couldn’t help but take her into his arms, stroking over her long hair that so much resembled his own.

“But – I do not understand,” Legolas inquired in a gentle voice; it did not make much sense for him. “You said that she returned your love?” Whereas he had always assumed Thranduil would hate him for what he felt towards him, cast him away for the mere thought alone – Galion and his sister's attraction had been mutual?

For a moment, Galion felt as if he could read his friend’s thoughts. “Legolas, you know that such relationships are not condoned among our kin! Illicit, forbidden, frowned upon; every child knows the forsaken tale of Nienor and Túrin, her brother. And you, like any other, know exactly what happened to them.” Often, Galion had wondered if their isolated life had led to what they felt for each other, if a curse lay upon his family, the wrath of the spirits that roamed the wild forest. Had they hunted the wrong animal a few months prior? Eaten mushrooms that were not meant for them to eat?

“Yes,” Legolas nodded. There was not a single elf living on Arda who has not learned about their sad and forsaken tale as elfling. Their story was ranked among the most famous tales of old; among the Fall of Gondolin and Glorfindel’s valor, the dreadful battles of the First Age, the forging of the One Ring – but it was by far the most heartbreaking tale he had ever heard. _Túrin Turambar turun ambartanen (_ Master of doom by doom mastered) – no wonder his friend saw similarities to his and his sister's own fate, even if it was different in its own way.

Galion swallowed against the dryness of his throat as an indescribable sadness began to form in his heart. “And we as well knew the tale. We had denied each other for many years, hoping the feelings would simply disappear. But every month spent in denial only made it worse, made the forbidden desire only stronger. Over the years, the yearning for the forbidden touch became unbearable.”

They had denied each other physically, but the meaningful and hidden glances cast in secret had persisted, as had the accidental touches that were anything but accidental when they helped their parents in the house; as often as it had been possible they had sneaked away into the forest, down to the riverbank that was surrounded by blossoming irises and wild orchids.

Usually, they would sit and talk, talk until their throats were dry, laugh until no air remained in their lungs – and sometimes when the moon cast its pale light upon them they would dare to touch, gently, hesitantly, entwining their hands to watch the stars together.

 _‘Galion,’_ Findíel had said, her voice barely audible above the sound of the gushing of the river, her eyes shooting him a withering glance, _‘I know it is not right, but my feelings for you are there, undeniably – and they have changed.’_ It was the first time she had ever said what they had both secretly felt for many months. _‘Changed so much that I do not know what to think anymore, what to feel, to dream of.’_

He had simply nodded and placed one of her tiny, delicate hands over his own, afraid that somebody might part them if he did not hold onto her. The touch of her skin against his palm had felt impossibly hot, even if her hand was not any warmer than usual.

She had been so brave and wise – so much braver than he would have been, daring to voice what they both felt equally.

 _‘I know, my love, I know, but we cannot have what we both desire,’_ he had replied, unable to hold her gaze.

Absently, Legolas moved closer to have a better look at his face and found a twisted, bitter smile displayed on Galion’s lips, his eyes already watery with tears. “YEARS?!” he exclaimed in astonishment – the sheer amount of time was beyond him. How long had he himself suffered? A few months! And those had been the saddest, most bitter months of his entire life, filled with sorrow and misery. And his friend spoke of many years? _‘Oh I never knew,’_ Legolas thought in silence as pity overwhelmed him, wondering how Galion had managed to stay alive, and he could not help but feel apologetic for his own ignorant behavior. _‘I never even imagined, never asked, never did anything. I am sorry.’_ Ignorant he had been, indeed. Wasn’t friendship about trust and confinement? Wasn’t friendship something where the other person was equally important?

“Yes, five-and-a-half years. Five years filled with sorrow and denial.” Galion’s words were nothing more than a sad whisper, almost as if he was still afraid that somebody might overhear him speaking. They had tried everything in an attempt to overcome their illicit feelings; for many weeks they had ignored each other to such an extent that their mother had begun to worry, for many weeks they had not even spoken to each other if it could be avoided by any means – it had only made everything worse, as the illicit desire had burned brighter than ever.

“Five years, Legolas. Five years filled with hidden glances and forbidden fantasies. Fantasies that moved away from innocence, fantasies that became vivid at night. Believe me, it was the saddest and most sorrowful time of my entire life until then.” Afterwards, when they had realized they could not keep up this foolish charade forever, not without raising more suspicions, they had tried to resume their ‘normal’ lives again – but nothing in their lives had been normal or ordinary. She had been his everything, and so he had been hers – each of them unable to live without the other.

Denial of mutual love was the cruelest deed imaginable, Legolas thought, taking his friend’s hand into his own to comfort the shaking elf beside him. Not only had Galion helped him to achieve what he could never have done himself, but had also stood up against his king, something which could easily have earned him long and lonely nights in the dungeons, if not worse.

“But then?” Legolas asked after a while, when no more words would left the Silvan elf’s lips.

Galion’s face lightened up for seconds, as his mind recalled the last happy day of his life. Despite the many centuries that had passed since then, he felt as if it had only happened yesterday, blissful and dreadful memories mingling in his mind. “Then, Legolas, everything changed,” he began to speak in an awkward voice filled with sadness and love simultaneously. When he closed his eyes for a the blink of a second, he saw her face again, heard the heartwarming laughter that was so much like his own even if it had only sparsely been heard those days. But what had taken him entirely aback was the touch bestowed upon his sun-tanned skin. Delicate fingertips danced like butterflies over his throat, his shoulders, his ears – every touch followed by a visible tremor, by gooseflesh that simply would not go away for long moments. A heavy sigh filled the air around them, and absently Legolas squeezed his friend's hand for mental support.

“It was a beautiful summer day, followed by an even more beautiful evening,” Galion resumed his monologue, thankful that the King’s son did not interrupt him.

Aye, he trusted Legolas, yet he felt as if he was being led to the stake, a thousand thoughts rushing through him. Galion did not know anymore what was right or wrong, but it also did not matter anymore, he decided as he continued describing the events of the day that changed everything. “The most beautiful day of my entire life. The air was pleasantly warm and the last rays of the sun sparked a firework across the sky. Never before, and never after, have I seen such an explosion of colors! We spent the entire day outside. We swam in the cool waters of the river until our lips turned blue, we talked and laughed – carefree and innocent again. Later, when we grew tired from swimming, she ran back to our house and snatched away two large bottles of wine in her eagerness. We drank some wine down at the riverbank, with every goblet that ran down our throats we laughed more, and everything seemed to be so utterly perfect, too perfect to be real.”

Galion paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts with a heavy sigh – as an outside spectator from above he saw himself sitting beside her, their faces caressed by the last rays sunshine, anticipation and incredible longing shining in both their eyes.

“Her head rested against my shoulder, and then suddenly her laughter ceased and she grew silent, lifting her head until our eyes met. There was a sparkle in them that I had never seen before. _‘Galion, please’_ she had whispered, taking my hands into her own. Certainly, the wine had made her bold, but isn’t it said that in wine there is truth? Truer words had never been spoken. ‘ _We both know we want it, we both know that we cannot live without each other anymore. Do not deny me my greatest wish.’_ Long had I lost my internal struggle, as her greatest desire reflected my own weakness. Gently, I cupped her face for the first time, feeling the skin I should never desire against my palms, so soft, so alluring. And then ... and then I kissed her, not knowing what to do exactly. Carefully and hesitantly at first, before her hands weaved into my hair, pulling me closer against her, our breath and lips mingling, myriad sensations rushing through both of our bodies. Never had our mental link been stronger, Legolas. She was me, and I was her. My needs resembled her own, as her desire only sparked mine further – we were as one soul in that moment. Soon, she allowed herself to fall backwards onto the tiny pebbles, and I had no other choice than to follow her lead. Our touches and kisses became more frantic, exploratory, and I couldn’t distinguish anymore where her body ended and mine began, or when exactly my tunic flew carelessly aside, allowing her hands to roam freely. Oh it was so wonderful that I do not even have words to describe HOW I felt. Happy, content, aroused – whole again, my arms wrapped around the only person I truly loved.”

Legolas hung on his every word, as Galion had a gift for describing all the emotions he had felt so many centuries ago and the beautiful scenery surrounding the ever flowing river; for the Prince, who had never been anywhere near the area where his friend had grown up, it was easy to imagine the surreal beauty of the forest.

Again, Galion swallowed hard, fighting back the tears that desired to flow freely across his face. “The happiness I felt was indescribable - until my father saw us.”

“Oh ... shit.” It simply escaped Legolas, and immediately he covered his mouth with his free hand.

“Aye,” Galion mumbled more to himself than to Legolas, wiping away a tear from his eyes with his sleeve. “He screamed and yelled at us, even tried to physically assault us for what we had done. At first, I thought to deny the accusation, but our position had been to compromising. There was no possible way to deny what had happened between us, and if he wouldn’t have interrupted – enraged, yelling furiously – I would have bedded my twin sister that night.”

With the last word spoken, another tear escaped his eyes, trickling down his burning cheeks until the droplet came to rest on the corner of his lips. This time, Galion simply ignored the salty liquid and resumed his dreadful tale. “ _‘Cursed you are!’_ my father had screamed, _‘forsaken! Doomed! This will stop. NOW. If it is not too late already!’_ There was no chance of escaping his watchful eyes in the months that followed, as we weren’t allowed to leave the house together. We could hardly speak to each other without being spied on by him.”

Another heavy sigh left his lips, and absently Legolas placed his arm around his friend’s shoulder, pulling the shaking body against his own. “I am sorry, Galion. So sorry,” the blonde mumbled in a pitiful voice. To some extent he felt responsible for all the resurfaced misery in his friend’s heart and soul; after all, he had refused to let go of the matter until Galion had finally given into his curiosity.

“Do not apologize, Legolas,” said the Silvan elf with a determination the young Prince had not expected. “You never forced me to reveal my secret to you or anybody else. I am telling you this, as you are possibly the only person on earth who understands me, who has suffered – at least partly - from the same misery.”

Somebody, who shared the same dreadful secret was indeed not easy to find, Legolas had to admit, and of course he understood why his friend had kept his secret for what seemed like an eternity. With whom should he have shared it? Thranduil? No, certainly not! The stern advisors on his grandfather’s court? Oh, by the Valar, that would have been the worst choice imaginable. There was literally no one available, and the realization only pained the young elf more.

“Aye, but still – your words, your sadness hurts me,” he mumbled, shame clearly audible in his voice.

Galion was still shaking like a leaf in the wind in his friend’s embrace; in fact, he couldn’t even recall when last somebody had held him close – it must have been ages ago. “Maybe I should have confided in somebody many years, possibly even centuries, ago – but I couldn’t. I simply could not and I actually thought I would take this shameful secret to my grave. I am weak, Legolas.”

Emotions seemed to overwhelm him, even if he desperately tried to fight them. Galion exhaled slowly, anxious, hoping to keep his sadness at bay.

“Nonsense!” Legolas snapped harshly. “You are not!” The young elf stated in determination, intensifying the embrace he had on his friend. Galion was indeed many things, but never would Legolas describe him as weak. “It all makes sense now. Why you did not judge me, why you helped me, stood up against my father, your king.” All these deeds were the opposite of being weak, and the prince hoped that Galion would see it, too.

Surprisingly, he did not, and inwardly Legolas frowned as the words softly flowed over the other’s lips. “Aye – I did not wish for history to repeat itself, and in contrast to me, **_YOU_** had the courage to confront your father, to act upon your feelings, even if you didn't know what the final outcome of your tantrum would be. Trust me, I **AM** weak, and you will soon understand why. Those few times we managed to snatch away a moment to ourselves, Findíel had asked me, no, begged me, to leave together, to simply run away, but I ... I couldn’t. I thought everything was hopeless. I denied her her greatest wish. Again – and again. I never had the courage to fight for my feelings, to stand up against my father’s will. Then, after a year had passed, she grew weak, sick even; and again she begged me with all strength that remained within her. My father said it was the curse befalling her – and over the following weeks she grew weak and weaker, until she was only a shadow of her former self.

 _‘Galion, I will leave you for the better,’_ she mumbled so low that the words were barely understandable.

 _‘You cannot leave me,’_ I responded. _‘I cannot exist without you.’_

 _‘I fear you must,’_ She confessed, and I haven’t understood the gravity of the situation.

The next morning, her bed was deserted; I do not know where she had found the strength to leave to house unseen and walk to the forest, but that is where she went; that is where I found her lifeless body. Cold and empty, lying on the riverbank among the wild irises she loved so much.”

 

By now, Galion was a puddle of misery, helplessly sobbing against Legolas’ shoulder, and the pity he felt for his friend made his stomach twist in response. Absently, he dropped his eyes to the ground, and fury began to fill his veins. Life was all but fair, and he blamed Galion’s father for the constant misery the poor elf had had to endure his entire life. Just as the blond wished to speak his rage aloud, Galion placed a finger over his lips, whispering, “Do not. It is not your place to judge.”

A brief nod was the only response he obtained from the Elvenprince. Slowly, searching for the right words, Galion continued, even if half of the words he spoke were drowned out by the constant sobbing: “I carried her lifeless body back to our house, and for the first time in my life I confronted my father, but he did not wish to hear any of it! Instead, he blamed me for his daughter’s death, yelling at me that a curse lies upon me! I kissed her one last time, held her close before I left, without saying my mother goodbye. And then I ran. I ran. I ran for many days, didn’t sleep, didn’t eat, until I was too exhausted to continue. At first, I did not even know **_WHERE_** to go, afraid of being hunted, being cursed. _‘The gods see everything,’_ he had said, _‘the gods will judge you’_. Wasn’t it enough, that I judged myself for being responsible for my sibling’s death? Wasn’t this punishment enough? I kept running, for many moons – through rain, through wind and cold – until I forgot the taste of food, the warmth of a house; mourning my existence, waiting for deliverance, waiting for the sky to crash down on me. Strange voices spoke to me – and at the time I thought I had clearly gone mad – voices that whispered that the dead wait for a long time. Aye, I thought that I had finally have lost my wits, when those strange voices invaded my mind repeatedly. I was prepared to die: today, the next day or the day after. I could not even find the strengths to care anymore, what was left for me on this earth, anyway? I was forsaken, a miserabe outcast – until I ran into one of your grandfather’s patrols. Of course, they were suspicious at first – I must have looked horrible after so much time in the wild, but they believed the lie I made up whilst warming myself in front of the crackling fire.”

 

Galion seemed frightened, disturbed – as if the memory would come alive if he dared to speak of it aloud.

Legolas’ eyes remained on him, but apart from that the prince remained silent. “When I came to Amon Lanc after another day out in the pouring rain, an audience before the king was granted, and believe it or not, I begged your grandfather to take me into his service, soaking wet as I still was, nearly starved to death and more exhausted as I had never been in my life. Cook, butler, keeper of the dungeons, fool – whatever position was available, I would gladly take. This was my only choice, the only hope that remained for me. There was nowhere I could go…” His voice sounded far away, Legolas noticed, as if he was completely detached from this world.

“I never knew…” the young elf mumbled, astonished.

The words that followed echoed strangely in his head, as he confirmed what Legolas had already suspected.“Nobody knows, Legolas. Nobody ever knew. Not your grandfather, nor your father, nor anybody else in the kingdom – you are the only ones, and I would be grateful if you could keep this secret to yourself.”

“Of course!” Legolas cried out. Just as he had asked his friend to keep his own secret forever, he would do the same with everything he had learned this day about the butler’s past. “My lips are sealed, Galion,” he promised with a warm smile, hoping that he could ease his friend's pain at least a little, keep him company, share his burden and his worries.

In his youthful innocence something else began to occupy his mind, “But ... aren’t you lonely?” he asked, curiosity audible in the words that would not easily come to him, knowing that his question was somewhat out of place.

“I am. I have always been,” Galion confessed, wiping away the remains of shed tears. “I am no king, but I would give my kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder, all my riches for her smile, my life for making things undone.” Then he paused, struggling to choke out the words he knew he had to say. “Although, I know that these fantasies are nothing more than the wishful thinking of my troubled mind; she is lost, never to return to me. Deep inside, I also know that I need to move on, that I finally have to let go of my past, opening my heart for another …”

Whilst Galion spoke, Legolas tried to recall if he had ever heard any rumors in regard to his friend, but admittedly he hadn’t – not even once. Nor could he recall Galion ever sneaking away with another during any festivities, as so many elves did. “I have never seen or heard of you taking a lover…” said Legolas, not knowing if this was meant as a question or a statement.

Galion shrugged in response, saying truthfully: “Because I have never done so.”

“Never?” the blonde asked with a certain amount of disbelief. The fateful tale must have happened almost a millennia ago, and with his own insatiable behavior it was beyond him that Galion never would never have given into the appeal of lust. “Not even a fleeting night? A foolish dalliance after a few glasses of wine?”

“No,” the auburn-haired elf shook his head, “never.”

“But that must have been AGES!?” Stupidly, Legolas laughed then, his lips curling over his teeth into a smile, but his amusement faded quickly as he realized what an affront he had voiced aloud, and his face became more serious again. No, he certainly was not made for the subtleties of diplomacy like his father was, the young elf thought. Gladly, neither was Galion, and much to the young elf’s surprise he returned his smile without any hint of bitterness.

“Yes, Legolas. Ages, countless centuries indeed.” Actually, it was much longer, but it was inexplicable as it was, and he didn’t see the need to give the prince more reason to doubt his sanity.

Partly, Legolas could already imagine his friend’s motives, after all he had lost the person he had truly loved with all his heart – still, did not everybody need to move on, after a while? His father had mourned his mother’s death for many, many years; in comparison to Galion’s grief, the time-span felt like the mere blink of an eye.

“But why?” Legolas asked quietly. Certainly, his friend must have had suitors, both females and males alike, probably.

He had begun to live again under Oropher’s reign, being granted an occupation as stable boy, but it was not without its price. The first day of work he had spoken a secret vow to the gods he did not believe in, sacrificing his own happiness to protect others from himself. “It never felt right, and it’s hard to explain. I am not even certain if I can find the right words for it. Still, I will try: Every advance I received, every invitation for a night under the starlit sky felt as if I would betray the memory I still cherished in my heart and soul, throwing it away for a night that would ot have meant anything for the other. Aye, you might say, ‘How would you know if their interests had not been sincere, and the only answer I can give is that I assumed it – I always did. But it wasn’t only this – I was also afraid. I still am, and this is probably the reason why I have rejected every invitation I have received in later years.”

Legolas listened in silence to Galion’s monologue, wondering what else his friend would tell him – as if the story wasn’t sad enough already, somehow it seemed as if more was about to spill from the other’s lips.

And he was not mistaken.

Galion drew in a deep and steady breath before he continued to speak: “Everything what had happened was my fault! A curse lies upon me, and I am afraid that something bad will happen to everyone I touch – that they will be cursed.” He tried to calm himself, but nothing seemed to ease the terror that now overwhelmed him; his hands and lips felt numb, his heart was beating so rapidly that Galion thought it would tear his chest in two parts. The memories were so vivid, so maddingly haunting, unlike they'd been in many months.

“No such things do exist,” Legolas said, shaking his head in determination. No, he wasn’t quite sure himself that this was true, even if he had never heard of such a thing, but he simply had to say something against his friend’s ridiculous thoughts.

“It is said that those who faded because of impure thoughts still roam the forest, haunt your dreams, and meddle in your affairs – until you despair. Until you lose your mind, until you fall for their trap, following them into the realm of shadows.” With every word that left his lips, Galion felt sicker, scared and guilty, so utterly guilty. His palms are cold and clammy, just as he imagined his wraith sister’s hand to be. Dead – and cold.

“Galion, please!” The unexpectedly bitter confession, the dread that filled every word he had said, nearly left him speechless.

There was so much pain, and his head felt heavy with his own thoughts; he barely had the strength to argue with his friend.“No, Legolas,” he shook his head to give his words more substance, “it is not as easy as it might sound to you. I saw her roaming the forest on bare feet, her long hair flowing behind her as she walked along the narrow path. Sweet and innocent, dressed in the finest gowns, shimmering pale in the moonlight. She whispered to me words of adoration, tried to lure me into her malignant spell, asking me to follow her deep down into the forests, down into the caves – never to return.”

No, he didn’t expect the young elf to believe any of his words, nor would he blame him if a laugh should tumble from his lips; how was he to tell if they were not simply the dreadful imaginations of his corrupted mind? “Ever since that incidence I have not been in the woods, at least not alone,” he added. Of course he had been in the forest during the obligatory festivities, and admittedly he had quite enjoyed the peaceful tranquility, the soft smell of the earth, but at the same time, Galion had always made certain that he had never been left behind alone. There was no doubt, that he was truly weak, a coward, and he hated himself for his weakness, now all the more.

Absently, he lifted his head and looked skywards, and his eyes widened in surprise – many hours had already passed since he had disturbed the young elf in the king’s private gardens. Too much the Prince’s precious time had he already snatched away.

With an apologetic glance towards the bouquet of flowers that lay on the soft grass, he finally changed the topic. “But you haven’t come down to the gardens to hear my sad stories…” stated Galion, pointing towards the flowers, which the young elf had apparently completely forgotten.

The Silvan elf’s expression was unreadable to him, but he shook his head.“No I have not, at least not originally,” Legolas began, not even looking at the arrangement of white and lilac blossoms, but right into Galion’s eyes instead. “You know, sometimes things that are more important get in the way of our original plans, and be assured: I will listen to everything you wish to tell me. Remember, when I whined and cried about my problems, you were there, having an open ear for all my sorrows. And now I am here, after all, that is what friendships are for.”

“Aye,” Galion nodded, wiping away another tear with the end of his sleeve. “And let me tell you something: you make for an extraordinary good friend, the best I ever had in my life.” Before the young elf knew what was happening, two arms flew around him and pulled him close.

“Hannon le, for everything,” his friend mumbled when he rose from the bench. There was something tentative and nearly shy in his eyes as bade the prince farewell.

Legolas had no idea **_HOW_** in the world he could cure both Galion’s sadness and loneliness, but he was determined to find a way; after all, his friend shouldn’t live in sorrow for the rest of his immortal life. No, he desperately wished to pull a smile from his lips again, to see eyes sparkling with mirth instead of dull and hollow orbs.

 

*****

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _“Mourn for existing, waiting for deliverance. The sky crashes down, the dead wait for a long time.”_ Was snatched from “Dreadful Shadows – Dead can Wait”
> 
> **A little bit of explanation:** I took my liberties here with the concept of fading of elves, and the interpretation of fading under special circumstances (rape, illicit love). The Realm of Shadows is a rumor which exists among the Silvan Elves, something parents would tell their small children to frighten them in order not to do anything stupid (something like: “in the forest lives the big wolf who eats little children” to prevent them from going there alone). This concept is AU, made up entirely by my own mind – canonically slain elves find their way into the Halls of Waiting (Mandos halls with the Vala Námo as its keeper), but there’s this notion in Law and Customs among the Eldar (LACE) about that elves which are not slain nor sail waist to avoid fading (as Celebrian, Elrond’s wife did) fade are becoming sort of ‘wraiths’, and parts of it are also hinted in the Doom of the Noldor: _"and your houseless spirits shall come then to Mandos. There long shall ye abide and yearn for your bodies, and find little pity though all whom ye have slain should entreat for you. And those that endure in Middle-earth and come not to Mandos shall grow weary of the world as with a great burden, and shall wane, and become as shadows of regret before the younger race that cometh after."_
> 
> The entire concept is pretty complex tbh and I hope it makes some sense and I did not mess with the interpretation.
> 
> Apart from Tolkien’s original works, I found for the Realm of Shadow and Galion’s sister inspiration in old English fairy lore (the fairy-like creature roaming the forest), the (altered) character of a Sukkubus (luring Galion into an embrace) and the concept of Erinyes (Greek Mythology), of which it is said: “Those who beneath the earth punish whosoever has sworn a false oath / that they have the power of influencing men's life on earth in various ways.” And yes, her outer appearance is based on Galadriel’s design in LotR/FotR when she walks down the stairs towards the mirror. Just imagine Galadriel as Nazgûl and that is how Galion’s sister walks the forest (or how he at least sees her).


	5. Let me thank you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Legolas is troubled by Galion’s story and thinks how to help him, because Thranduil’s meeting takes extraordinarily long. When he finally returns, they try something new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **[Tags]** \- Explicit language, oral sex, rimming  
>  **[Beta]** \- Many thanks to my lovely beta [OohLaGalion](http://archiveofourown.org/users/OohLaGalion/pseuds/OohLaGalion) for the amazing work on this chapter :)

**Let me thank you**

*****

It didn’t take long for the prince to make his way back through his father’s cavernous palace with the beautiful bouquet of flowers in his hand; even if he did not stick his nose right into it, the specific fragrance accompanied every step he took, every move he made, and at times he even thought that he would certainly leave a traitorous track that anyone could follow. This was, of course, ridiculous – who on earth would ever follow him, sniffing after him in the middle of the day?

Soon he dismissed his own foolish thoughts, and aye, with every step that took him closer to the king’s private quarters he became more excited, and he actually had to control himself not to let his footsteps become too fast, too bouncy, as he was not the only one who walked through the endless corridors at this hour of the day. Although he was well aware that the king’s rooms would be deserted for at least another few hours, he could not help his internal joy; those meetings could grow long and stretch endlessly, that much he had already learned, but patiently he would wait until his beloved returned to him. Well, if he was honest, there were not too many other options available; for once he could go back to his own rooms, but there was literally nothing that awaited him there, except maybe some dust and unpleasant memories. No, his father’s rooms were much bigger and more comfortable – after all, it was the most extravagant residence in the kingdom – and maybe he could explore the secret places he was certain were spread across the chambers, a little bit more.

At last, he arrived where the corridors split off, and for a second he halted. With utter care he scanned the way for any intruders, servants or guards, but luckily, no one was to be seen in the corridor that led to his father’s rooms, so he could easily sneak back inside undiscovered. Quickly and as silently as possible, he rushed to the end of the corridor and unlocked the door with his heart beating heavily against his chest.

As soon as the door snapped closed behind him, he locked it once more before he leant against it, drawing in a deep breath and then another to steady himself. Much to his surprise it wasn’t only his heartbeat that was affected by his rather naughty thoughts and all the emotions that tolled through him, but also his legs and body; in fact the young elf felt his legs waver, almost denying him support.

Truly odd it was, but the forbidden nature of their relationship with all its dreadful consequences never failed to excite him. Aye, of course he would love to wander with his beloved through the beautiful gardens, to stand right beside him whenever possible, their hands entwined for everybody to see. However, the secrecy of their forbidden dalliance gave endless options, too, some of which he was certain would never leave his wicked mind, at least not all too soon. Yet he had never found the courage to voice them aloud. Not yet – that was what he had told himself repeatedly each time when a naughty thought resurfaced.

And even if he already knew just how foolish his thoughts were, more often than not, Legolas simply couldn’t believe that anything of this was sweet reality, especially not after hearing his friend’s forsaken story only moments ago.

he young elf shook his head sadly, and a heavy sigh escaped his lips, all naughtiness was forgotten in an instant when he recalled the words Galion had spoken earlier this day.

“Oh, life is so cruel, so unfair,” Legolas muttered to himself; why were they granted a happy life together when Galion was not?

How was their relationship any different?

Wasn’t it even worse, what they did with each other in the darkness of the night?

Legolas had not asked when exactly Galion had arrived at Oropher’s halls, but the realm of Amon Lanc had diminished many centuries ago, which only implied that his friend had been lonely for far longer than it could possibly be healthy – a thought that only saddened him further.

With another heavy sigh, he pushed his back against the door, the flower bouquet still in his hand; in truth he had almost forgotten about it as he had lost himself in his musings. Slowly he strolled through the spacious chambers in search of a vase that would be fitting for the flowers – and maybe he would discover something else whilst searching his father’s shelves. The thought itself was hilarious, Legolas had to admit as a snicker escaped him, because certainly Thranduil would NOT hide compromising toys in between delicately crafted vases and plates for any visitor or servant to see. Wishful thinking this was, however, but most pleasant, too – something in which he could easily lose himself for hours.

‘A dreamer you are, my little leaf,” his father had told him on several occasions during his childhood, and although he had always given him a pouting look, the statement might have been correct after all; he loved to dream, to lose himself in reveries, to explore and exploit various scenarios in his head. He had done so being a child, and it had never changed throughout the years; he still loved to do so as an adult, preferably outside with nothing except the rustling leafcanopy above him.

But now was hardly the time to dream, Legolas decided as he continued his search for a fitting jar. After a little while he finally found what he was looking for and filled the vase with water and put the bouquet inside.

Truly beautiful it was!

And if he was honest, he was a little bit amazed by the result, especially as this was the first time he had ever done anything like this.

He had spent more time in the gardens in search of the flowers, and especially afterwards talking with Galion than he had originally thought, and a brief glance outside told him that it was rather late already.

The sun slowly began to sink down the sky and would soon disappear behind the vast forest, which seemed to stretch endlessly – the enchanted forest with all the countless birds and flowers. Oh how much he wished to roam it together with his lover, to lie down on the soft grass and watch the stars above them, losing themselves in the throes of passion afterwards, just as they had done during Beltaine Night. A pleasant sensation began to spark deep down in his belly, the strange thrill of unwavering anticipation – oh he couldn’t wait until Thranduil would finally return, to feel his hands and lips against his skin again, to hear his soft voice whispering in his ears; and maybe he could convince Thranduil to go outside with him. Maybe, but for once he had to sit down and wait. Patiently.

However, he had no idea when exactly is father would return – and it was possiblehe had plenty of time on hand, more time than he could keep himself occupied; for seconds the thought of defying his father’s request and using one of the delicate toys held him captive, but in the end he dismissed it. The letter had been worded clearly enough — even for him — and maybe for once he should indeed obey his father’s wishes, the young elf thought, wondering what exactly the consequences for disobedience would be, because usually there was no punishment. But no, this was something differentl, and additionally, he did not wish to waste all his energy on pleasuring himself, no matter how alluring the original thought was.

With care he took the vase with the flower bouquet into his hands and walked from the main room to a more private setting, placing it on the table in his father’s lounge room, making certain that Thranduil would catch a glimpse as soon as he stepped through the door.

Aye, this was a goodspot, Legolas thought to himself, unsure if putting the flowers right in the bedroom would be overdoing it, especially as the fragrance was rather intense. He himself, however, settled down on the cozy pillows spread around the fireplace, one of his favorite places for many years.

Involuntarily, his mind drifted off into the past and he recalled several occasions on which he simply had fallen asleep on them whilst awaiting his father’s return; how often had he begged his father to read yet the same story again to him, over and over again, until he finally fell sleep in Thranduil’s arms. Every memory that resurfaced made him smile fondly, he still was amazed how the impatient king had never lost patience with him. Never, not even once.

A little bit longer he followed his memories into his past, before his thoughts returned to his friend — the one who had done so much for him in the past.

Galion.

Oh it was such a crux, such a tragedy, Legolas thought. Why should the most helpful, understanding person he had ever known be sentenced to a life of loneliness?

It was cruel, so beyond cruel. And as he thought about it, he came to the conclusion that there simply **_MUST_** be somebody to in the vast world for Galion to love.But who? He brought to mind all of the inhabitants of his father’s palace, immediately dismissing every single one of them. Nay, they did not fit at all. And if Galion was interested in any of them, would he not have already tried his luck years ago?

A nightmare this truly was, he thought angrily, turning his thoughts to the other possibilities. Messengers came and went, especially from Lady Galadriel’s realm, as did soldiers every once in a while. Maybe this would be a possibility? But then again, he did not even know what Galion preferred, what was important for him — or not. And additionally, political conflicts were likely to occur if something were indeed to develop between Galion and the outsider.

He had not been tired when he had entered his father’s chambers, merely excited, but those dreadful and sad thoughts drained him to some extent; he desperately wished to help, with all his heart and soul, but the possibilities were so few, and no solution would come to him. Not today, not tomorrow, maybe not as long as he lived — and this was so incredibly sad, especially as Galion was the only one who had helped him to cope with his illicit longings, his forbidden desires; he had even stood up against his king and superior to talk sense into him.

 

There simply **_MUST_** be a possibility to lift his mood, and to make him happy again, no matter the cost! If he could at least speak with his father about it, as Thranduil would certainly have a solution, or at least an idea of how to proceed, but he couldn’t. All of Galion’s trust was placed upon him and he would never speak with his father about it if his friend did not wish him to.

Whilst he was still lost in thought, his gaze drifted towards the window front, and with astonishment he realized that the sun had already disappeared behind the enchanted forest, the last rays brushing against the dense forest canopy he saw from above, the cloudless sky already painted in reddish golden flames.

“Such a beautiful day,”he said to himself as he rose to his feet, inwardly hoping for yet an even more beautiful night; however, his father had not yet returned, and slowly he began to worry (which was, of course, completely ridiculous in itself).

Yet he rose from the soft cushions and walked over to the bedchamber and lay himself down on the bed; if he had to wait for much longer, thinking about Galion’s sad fate and his inability to do something – ANYTHING – against it would certainly drive him mad.

A nap was a good alternative, he decided.

And, if he was honest, it was more or less the only one he had, because he could not be bothered to read or exercise. With a hearty yawn Legolas rolled onto his side, pulling the pillow close to his body.

Soon he drifted off into sleep, and despite the early hour of the evening he dreamt in rather weak and disoriented pulses.

**~~**

When Thranduil finally returned to his quarters the moon has long descended over the enchanted forest, touching the leaf canopy with its ethereal light.

“Legolas?” He softly asked into the darkness, but did not receive an answer immediately.

Instead, an unexpected scent of flowers filled his nose; roses, certainly, combined with the fragrance of lily of the valley — but there was another scent he could not quite distinguish. Where had the flowers come from, he asked himself, as he couldn’t remember having ordered the servants to bring fresh flowers upstairs earlier that day. But maybe Legolas had? One could never know, he mused as a smile began to form. Oh he had missed him. Every minute, every second that passed, every moment he had missed him whilst he sat in the council meeting his thoughts traveled around him.

Through a haze of sleepy confusion, Legolas heard the door crack open, followed by someone saying his name. Nay, not ‘someone’ — the one he had been waiting forfor hours. It was definitely his father’s melodic voice that reached his ears, the voice he would recognize from amongst a thousand.

“I am here,” he said weakly, and he was not even certain if his father had heard him, but apparently he had, or he had simply guessed, because the distant footsteps finally drew closer, and his heart began to leap in joy and anticipation. No matter how ridiculous this was, he had already begun to miss him, so much that it had almost hurt.

 

When Thranduil finally stepped inside his bedchamber, a slumber-lined Legolas greeted him. His face was just visible in the soft glow of the candles, his hair tousled, falling across his forehead, and his features were still relaxed from sleep. Oh he was so beautiful, Thranduil had to admit.

“You are late, Ada,” Legolas stated with a chuckle, even if he did not have an exact idea of how late it actually was, how long he had slept on his father’s bed, awaiting his return in silence.

“Yes,” he nodded apologetically, taking in the charming sight his son presented.

When he had left his lover behind, he had not thought that he would be gone for what seemed like an eternity, but it seemed as if every single elf in the kingdom demanded his presence today. The day had been long, he had barely eaten, and he had not even had a second of peace and tranquility with half the court bustling around him.

Oh, he was so utterly exhausted — something which rarely occurred — yet a smile began to form on his lips as his eyes traveled to the delicate bouquet standing on the small table near the fireplace.

He had wondered where the fragrance was coming ever since he had entered his private quarters, but until then he hadn’t been able to determine its source.

“Am I correct to assume that these are for me?” he asked, although he already knew the answer.

Legolas laughed softly at the question, but the laughter was somewhat shaky, for his nerves were again on edge. He simply nodded in response, failing to voice all the thoughts that rushed through his drowsy mind.

"Hannon le, melethnín. They are beyond beautiful.” Even if they weren’t it wouldn’t make any difference — the gesture alone was beyond sweet, and that was all that mattered, but Legolas had even picked a few blossoms of his favorite rose in the garden.

“As much as I wish to linger with you here forever, Legolas, I cannot. My mind and body desperately ache for a hot shower to wash away the remains of the day.”

Understandably, Legolas thought to himself. He had waited many hours for his lover to return; he easily could wait a few more minutes. “But I promise you, I will strain your patience even further,” his father added, and it was as if a twinkle of mischief rushed through his blue eyes. Would he finally give in to his silent pleas? The young elf’s heart leapt in joy and anticipation, even if he did not quite believe it.

_‘_ _Oh meleth, you are an open book to read — but no, sadly we have to wait just a little longer._ _’_

He would never forgive himself if he hurt him again, if he only made things worse.

Gently, Thranduil brought his fingers under Legolas’ chin to make him look at him before he kissed him. Slowly and languidly, with an utter sweetness that was simultaneously breathtaking and arousing.

“I will return soon.”

A rustling of clothes reached Legolas’ ears as he moved into the bedroom as his father had suggested. Soon the footsteps proceeded into the bathroom, followed by the distinct sound of gushing of water. Carefully, the young elf undressed himself and lay himself down on the silvery sheets again, sneaking beneath the covers. Despite the warmth outside, it was still pleasantly cool within the chambers, sheltered from the heat by the heavy stone walls.

Still, gushing and splashing water interrupted the peaceful tranquility, and Legolas couldn’t help but allow his mind to wander; how tiny droplets of warm water tickled down his father’s alabaster skin, forming a rivulet that flowed down his back, disappearing between his buttocks. Damp hair that pooled around his shoulders, clinging to the wet skin in the most sensual way. Legolas’ eyes have long fallen shut, and the sensations began to overwhelm him. He and Thranduil had been abstinent for daysm and his cock certainly remembered now, if had not already earlier. The sensual images flared through his mind as his heartbeat became more rapid, his cheeks slightly flushed; in his reverie, Legolas glared at him through the partly open door, shivering from the cold air whilst Thranduil angled himself towards the hot water that escaped the wall high above him.

His eyes traveled down the perfectly shaped body of his lover, over each well-defined muscle, over the flawless skin as Thranduil ran a bar of soap across his shoulders, over his chest and further down, shooting his spectator a knowing smirk. Those wonderful hands lingered on his buttocks just a second too long, dipping between them for a too brief touch; oh, how he wished he would be the one to touch, to explore — to do everything he fantasized about!

The sounds of water had long stopped, but in the young elf’s mind the water was still flowing freely as his father’s hand glided down his own body, light and sure, so perfect, so utterly sensual in its innocent. Those wonderful hands and skillful fingers lingered over his buttocks, dripping between them too briefly. There was no explanation for his sudden urge to touch his most private parts, and his thoughts were running riot; would he ever be allowed to… to… actually _fuck_ him? The young elf blushed to the tips of his ears, and came from the mere thought alone. Yet he pushed the fantasy to the back of his mind. Never would the proud king allow such a thing, of that he was certain.

Legolas’ eyes snapped open when the wooden door that lead to the bedroom creaked, tearing him out of his beautiful dreams. But reality wasn’t any less enchanting; his father’s long hair and body were still damp, tiny droplets of water that shimmered in the gentle light trickled down from his hair over his broad shoulders and further down. No, the young elf did not look — he shamelessly and openly stared at the one he desired so much, the one he had waited for for so many hours, for so many months. The rustling of towels and the creaking of the wooden door went entirely unnoticed as Legolas lost himself in reverie once more.

“Forgive me, if I have disturbed your peaceful slumber,” said Thranduil with the same knowing smirk that Legolas had seen only moments ago in his dreams. His son was lost, so utterly lost, and a traiterous blush began to creep up his cheeks. In fact, Legolas didn’t know where to look first:at his father’s handsome face, at his well-defined abdomen, which was still covered with droplets of water— or even further down, where his true interests lay. Gingerly, he lifted a hand and rubbed at his eyes as if he would rub away the slumber.

Soft moonlight streamed through the bedroom windows, mingling with the flickering candlelight; no matter how often he saw Thranduil now, he was certain that he would never tire of the divine sight that stood before him, smiling coyly down on him. Not today, not tomorrow, not for the rest of his immortal life. Involuntarily, Legolas’ lips parted as if he wished to speak, but — a little to Thranduil’s surprise — he remained quiet, still staring blatantly.

“Are we at a loss for words, little one? Or are you occupied with staring your eyes out?” His father cooed with a snicker, mocking him just a little bit for his behavior. In response, Legolas eyes only widened further, if this was even possible, and his blush intensified; until then, he had not even realized how preoccupied he had been with his own thoughts.

“Possibly,” he replied as somberly as possible, but his voice sounded most ridiculous to his own ears. “After all, it’s your fault.”

A delicate eyebrow was raised as soon as the words left the young elf’s lips. “Is it?” Thranduil asked with not too much sincerity.

“Yes. I mean, just LOOK at you. How do you expect to form a coherent sentence when you’re standing naked before me?”

“If I remember correctly, these are my rooms, my bed, and you are my honored guest,” he said with a hearty laugh; oh,his son was simply too endearing. “Maybe it is your own fault, then, because I can do many things, but I cannot corrupt your wicked thoughts.”

Legolas gave him a glaring look.

“Anyway,” he continued, changing the subject, “it seems as if you have obeyed my demand to stay away from my box, but ventured outside; therefore I assume all is well again?”

Were these words anything but utterly suggestive, or was it simply his corrupted mind that yet again read more into it than there was? So many things he wished to say, so many things he wished to do. Oh, so many ideas had swirled in his mind the entire afternoon, and now everything just seemed to be forgotten.

“Aye,” he said at last. In fact, it was the first day in a while that no part of his body hurt, and that walking did not make him cringe any longer. They certainly had overdone it that night, Legolas knew; still, those little pains when lust had long disappeared were somewhat thrilling. “I felt like taking a little stroll through your gardens; it is the perfect season to do so, although I think I might have enjoyed it all the more if you would have accompanied me.”

“Certainly!” responded Thranduil with a hearty laugh. “However, and I hope you will forgive me this. Right now I am both too exhausted and too lazy to set a single foot outside these chambers, and if I interpret the slumber that still clings to your eyes correctly, the same applies to you, my dear.” He took a deep breath to disguise his true interest, because yes, he was exhausted, but he was beginning to feel the sparks of anticipation inside him, the sensational thrills of lust already rushing through his veins. Admittedly, and much to his own shame, he had suffered the past days whilst his lover had been sore from their frantic and passionate lovemaking a few days past.

As much as Legolas hated to admit it, he had fallen asleep whilst wondering what to do about Galion, and most likely this was rather evident — always had been and still was. And if he was honest, he had already forgotten to ask Thranduil to go outside and watch the stars. “Aye,” he said at last, unwilling to admit that he lacked the energy to do much tonight.

Deep inside, the king was glad that no persuasion was needed. “Why not enjoy the amenities these rooms have to offer, then?” he suggested with an inviting smile.

These words truly piqued Legolas’ interest. As king, his private quarters had various amenities that other rooms did not, several to be precise, and he could not guess what his father had in mind. “What exactly do you mean?”

“The natural pools. If I have learnt anything in the past few centuries, Legolas, it is that there’s nothing better than a relaxing bath after a stressful day.” For a moment, he paused, observing his son’s face closely, but apparently he did not get the implication. “Except a shared bath after a stressful day.”

Again, Legolas felt as if his heart would break through his ribcage. This prospect was certainly enchanting, even if this was not exactly what he had had originally on his mind, but then, after all, why not? They had never done anything like it, and slowly but deliberately an almost ridiculous nervousness began to creep through every fiber of his body.

“What?” Thranduil asked not a moment later, apparently he was — again — an open book to read.

“Nothing,” he lied, and took the hand that was offered and rose from the bed.

“No matter, how hard you try, I see through your little lies, Legolas. So it ever was.”

“I know, and it is frustrating.”

“Do not fret,” Thranduil simply said, brushing a strand of golden hair out of his son’s face. “There will come a time when you will be able to easily conceal your emotions — and lies.”

Strange foreboding these words held, but the young elf couldn’t find the strength to focus on them, being nearly swept off this feet in a hearty and loving embrace, his face pressed against Thranduil’s shoulder, breathing in the sweet scent of soap and herbs. “Thank you for the flowers, my dear,” he heard his father whisper against his hair and felt fingers brushing against his neck and then against and ear.

Well, Legolas had no idea where the blossom in his father’s other hand had come from, but now a heavenly smelling flower decorated his hair right above his pointed ear. “Those rites you explained to me just intrigued me,” responded the young elf, and sentimental emotions began to coil within him, “and you have done so much for me throughout all the years. I wished to do something myself, something that makes you happy.”

“Oh Legolas,” Thranduil said, lifting up his son’s face to meet his gaze, “Your very existence – in each and every way – makes me happy, day after day, week after week.”

Legolas could have cried from sheer happiness, melting into the kiss that followed the enticing words. He wrapped his arms around him, feeling his feet sway. Their kiss was slow, at least at first, but it was enough to make his breath come faster. So long had he waited to feel those glorious lips against his own; how often he had stared at them in strange and forbidden fascination and now they seemed to devour him, every inch of his body and mind. Without being aware of what he did, he dragged his hands up Thranduil’s body until he cupped his face, drawing him closer. All previous turmoil, all sadness was long forgotten as he lost himself in the caress, kissing his father like he never thought it possible.

“Come,” whispered Thranduil against his lips, the words barely there, “let us not waste any more time.” Against his parted lips, he felt Legolas smile.

Legolas’ happiness was infectious, and made him smile in return as he placed his arm around his waist. Fortunately, the way to the private pool was not too long, because it seemed like neither of them could wait any longer, at least until they reached their destination. Whereas Thranduil immediately let go of both Legolas’ body and the towel that was still wrapped around his waist, throwing it carelessly onto the floor, before he gracefully ascended the stairs that led inside the thermal water, Legolas hesitated. Oh, he hated himself for it, but all he could ever do was to stare openly, letting his eyes graze every single inch of his lover’s perfect body — every subtle line and curve of his nude form, every taut muscle beneath the glistening skin. He was everything: beautiful beyond measure, enthralling, powerful and so utterly seductive in even the most normal things he did. Aye, his behavior was awkward, ridiculous even, and he hated himself for it — but suddenly he felt so exposed, so shy and vulnerable, standing naked like on the day he was born.

With an inviting yet suggestive smile he gestured to Legolas, who still stood at the edge of the pool, to join him into the warm water that pooled around him. The room was softly lit by glowing torches and a few candles, which somehow created an almost magical atmosphere; and the dim light did not make it all too easy to catch his lover’s gaze. But when Legolas finally did, his mouth dropped open.

There was something special, something utterly filthy in the way his father looked at him, the young elf noticed, and it made him shy all the more. Nay, he didn’t look — he simply stared at him, undisguisedhunger shining in his eyes, almost betraying him. They burned with such a hunger, a hunger solely for him, and the realization turned him on all the more, if his father’s divine appearance was not enough already. Actually, Legolas had not the slightest idea what exactly Thranduil had planned to thank him — how he had called it earlier, but it mattered not; he would willingly consent to every pleasure he would be offered.

For a moment he could only stand there and gape, absorbing the divine display his lover truly was, and at the end it was his gentle voice who cut through the veil of tranquility, interrupting his musings and his own hungry stare. “Now Legolas,” said Thranduil, a soft hum chasing away the awkward silence that lingered between them, more a purr than actual words, he noticed “do you not wish to join me?”

Of course he wished to, he was merely lost in his musings; and those were yet again his father’s own fault, after all.

Briefly, Legolas closed his eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath before he finally stepped down the natural stairs, which led into the spacious pool. Oh such wonderful amenities, he thought in silence, and he wondered how Thranduil managed not to spend the entire day inside here, because he certainly would. Heavenly it truly was, and soon he stood chest-deep in the warm water that felt so wonderful against his skin.

There was a brief moment when Legolas felt the world go still again; everything was moving in slow motion as he waded through the pleasantly warm water to where his father stood with open arms, welcoming him into a loving embrace. Once, many months ago, he had dreamt of the secluded springs hidden deep in the enchanted forest, about a clandestine meeting under Ithil’s watchful gaze alone, how they had devoured each other in the pale moonlight, in which his lover’s skin even looked smoother, almost like marble.

Oh, but reality was so much better than his reveries could ever be; his dreams had always lacked the rich details, the alluring scents and heights of pleasure; but then, how should he have known without having ever experienced lust and love?

Strong arms were wrapped around him as soon as he was within reach, pulling him close and dragging him along in the warm water that tickled his skin so wonderfully. Now he asked himself why they have never exploited these amenities before, because they simply seemed to be perfect in all their splendor. Torches of carved antlers decorated the walls, illuminating the scenery with soft golden light. Thranduil’s hand danced softly against his back, his fingers trailing upwards to his neck as he slowly stepped backwards towards the bench, which was hidden beneath the surface, and all Legolas was able to do was to follow, to mimic his lover’s motions.

He let out the breath he had not realized he was holding as he found himself in Thranduil’s lap not a moment later. Mesmerized he truly was as he looked deep into those sparkling eyes where love and affection shone through unveiled, whispering in a voice full of wonder, “Strange, is it not?” he began, cherishing the closeness of being held in his lover’s arms, “I have never thought this possible, and now it feels as if it has always been like this.”

In return, Thranduil merely smiled, and let his hands affectionately brush against his cheek, when his son’s head came to rest against his shoulder. “Oh Legolas, what would I do without you?” Often in recent days he had pondered this question, mostly when his son was resting in his arms in the middle of the night, when all was silent apart from their even breathing.

Legolas’ eyelashes dusted against his skin as he looked up at him, eyes half-lidded, enthralled by the wonderful intimacy they shared. Oh this was better, so much better than his reveries could ever be. There was so much love, so much affection in every tiny touch that was bestowed on his wet skin; all his expectations were easily surpassed, day after day, night after night — and deep inside, Legolas wondered what else he would be granted to experience in the arms of his beloved. Millennia could not pass without leaving its mark, he thought to himself, and he was more than eager to discover every single possibility available. Once more, he needed to face his father and look into his handsome face to make himself believe that this was real and truly happening. Carefully he shifted his position in Thranduil’s lap, leaning in until his nose brushed over his, kissing him gently onto the lips. With more strength than he had imagined, Thranduil pulled him closer towards his wet body, his tongue seeking entrance to his mouth. All Legolas could do was gasp in surprise, but he willing parted his lips and returned the kiss, tilting his head to allow for better access.

In response to his father’s motions, Legolas let his hand trail down Thranduil’s jaw, chaste but lingering, and then his fingers journeyed further down over the muscular chest, and for a moment his palm simply stayed there and felt the slightly quickened heartbeat before leaning in to cover the lips he so much desired. He let his hands explore the dips and contours of the king’s chest beneath the surface, hard and well-defined. Without looking or breaking the kiss, he found his nipples and gently squeezed them between his fingertips until Thranduil gasped against his lips.

“You are wonderful,” he heard him whisper against the wet skin of his neck, sinuous words that were followed by tiny kisses along his jawline towards his ear, where his father gently bit the lobe until he writhed in response — he was already trembling and melting in his arms; that was how he felt, at least.

 _‘_ _Better, so much better than any fantasy could ever be,_ _’_ Legolas thought to himself as he sank into the caresses, into the touches that were bestowed upon his skin. A smile crossed his features when his gaze travelled over every inch of the glistening body of his lover, a thousand tiny droplets of water spread across the golden skin, and he simply could not resist the urge to lick some of them away, much to Thranduil’s delight.Their fingertips had, in the meantime, developed a life of their own, traveling across broad and muscular shoulders, over each other's arms, and hands. “Every day, I feel that I love you all the more,” Legolas whispered against his father’s chest.

The response was instant: “So do I,” he said, and took the moment when Legolas was entirely off guard to follow his plan. Supported by the water, he lifted his lover’s lithe body upwards until he came to sit at the edge of the pool, and with gentle hands he pushed his legs apart, coming to sit on his haunches between them. The view was tantalizing, Thranduil had to admit, whilst Legolas’ mouth dropped open, but nothing ever came out, apart from short sharp little gasps of pure excitement, and he could not resist the urge to shoot him his most beautiful and naughty smirk he had to offer.

When he spoke, his voice was already hoarse. “Thank you again for the lovely flower bouquet,” he began with the most innocent smile he could muster, a smile that was not all too innocent and was betrayed by the tone of his voice. “I hope my attempts to thank you properly meet your expectations.”

Well, Legolas did not have any expectations at all, so this was more than a surprise, but certainly not against his liking, and now he was curious indeed.

In ghostly touches his fingertips danced over his sides until he reached his lover’s hips, followed by his lips, which kissed down their way over Legolas’ chest, his abdomen. Oh how glorious his father’s touch felt, Legolas thought, letting his head fall into his neck. So sensual, so alluring and divine, but it was the knowledge of what was most likely to follow that nearly sent him over the edge already, the thoughts that made his mind fly. Involuntarily a sigh of anticipation escaped his lips and carefully, he brushed his own hands against Thranduil’s head. Tantalizingly slow, the lips drew even further down, nuzzling his groin, the hands gently massaging his thighs, but intentionally ignoring his hard cock; it mattered not, as each tiny kiss, each little peck left gooseflesh in its wake.

Then, after what truly seemed like an eternity finally he felt his lover’s lips brush against the tip of his erection, and all he could do was gaze downwards as if he was spellbound, only to meet the shining blue eyes that were peaking coyly upwards under those incredibly long lashes. Now it was he who blatantly stared with his open mouth, and in response his father’s smile grew radiant, just before those sinful lips finally encircled his cock fully.

All Legolas could do was moan and writhe.

“Oh my, all that is dear to me,” he blurted out after a moment of tranquility, only interrupted by the filthy sound of gentle suck and splashing water. Restlessly, the wicked tongue flickered across the little opening, and soon enough he was lost for words; syllables substituted by silent moans and little whines. With utter grace, Thranduil withdrew his head at the same leisurely pace before swallowing just an inch more of him. Again, and again, until his entire cock disappeared between the spread lips. Never, not once, had Legolas seen anything more enticing, enthralling — and again, he thought he could come from the mere sight alone.

Where his lips and tongue were most eager, his father’s hands lay almost idle on his thighs, and it was something Legolas had never truly noticed before, but now that he thought about their latest encounters it had been always like this. Thranduil almost never used his hands when he touched him, at least not if there was the possibility of using his lips for it, making it all the more alluring. From time to time, the ends of the long wet hair brushed against his hips and thighs, sending a shiver down his spineeach time. This undid him; this — feeling the warm and wet mouth around him — truly undid him.

Thranduil spread his fingers over Legolas’ thighs, partly to hinder him from trashing all too violently, and he took it at a leisurely place until the first moan disturbed the heavenly silence. In response, his tongue swirled against the tip of Legolas’ cock, which elicited yet another moan. Oh, he could do this all day — tasting him, making him moan out, losing himself in the pleasure he was giving. Odd it was indeed, for so long he had not been on the giving side, and now he fully dissolved in the newly assigned task.

“You said you wanted to thank me,” Legolas muttered in feigned annoyance, “instead you are going to torture me, end me.”

“Am I?” asked Thranduil, equally playful, and this was something Legolas certainly would never tire of. The king was so differently in private with him than he was with anybody else — so gentle, so loving and patient, so beyond lovable. “I am truly sorry.”

No, he was not, nor was Legolas truly annoyed by what his lover was doing to him; still, the pace was maddeningly slow and torturous.

When Thranduil’s head sank down again, he allowed the tip of his tongue to flick along the entire length before he trailed lower, continuing the journey of his lips and tongue over his lover’s testicles until Legolas’ body jerked in response.

_‘_ _Lovely._ _’_

Thranduil’s voice was deep with arousal when he briefly interrupted his caresses. “Lie back,” he whispered, pushing against his lover’s chest with his hands, although Legolas immediately obliged and shifted his position as he was bidden to. Curious eyes still rested upon him, but telling Legolas now what he was about to do would certainly ruin the surprise, so he refrained.

With great care he placed both legs on each of his shoulders, fidgeting every now and then with them until he deemed the position to be perfect.

Anxiety on Legolas’ side soon dissolved as his cock was enwrapped by the divine wetness all over again, but then, his lips began to shift and he felt his father’s tongue lick over his testicles, drawing further down, and immediately his eyes snapped open. ‘What?!’ The question rushed through his head, but the moment he wished to voice his concerns, he felt Thranduil kiss him **_THERE_** , licking and sucking, the tip of his tongue swirling against his entrance.

This was _OBSCENE._

Filthy to the core, and Legolas nearly lost it then.

“ADA!” he exclaimed, shock and confusion visibly spread across his heated face; actually it was a very attractive look on him, Thranduil had to admit before his musings were interrupted yet again. “What are you doing?” Legolas asked in sheer disbelief. Certainly his lover could not mean to do THIS. Plainly speaking, the young elf was shocked as he had not been in many a year.

 _‘I_ _sn_ _’_ _t it obvious what I am_ _doing_ _, what I_ _intend_ _to do?’_ Thranduil asked himself silently as he shifted his position slightly to meet his lover’s gaze.

“Going down on you,” he said matter-of-factly, as if this was the most natural thing to do. And maybe it was, at least for him, Legolas mused in his lust-hazed mind; little insight did he have into his father’s desires.

But certainly this could not be among them, could it?

“You cannot,” he snapped, but despite his harsh words and tone, he was still looking down in strange fascination.

Well, his wording was not entirely correct, because apparently Thranduil very well could — as reality showed.

“Why?” Inquired Thranduil, his tone all of a sudden distant and icy, so very different from how he usually spoke when they were in private. “Because you have heard some half-wits say this is filthy, inappropriate — on the training grounds or somewhere else?” Where else would his usually curious and open-minded son have picked up such prejudices and dismissive behavior? All too well he knew the judgmental gossip and tales floating around frequently during sparring sessions and on border patrols, something that had always troubled him. Often he had tried to intervene, but rarely had he caught the culprit on the spot.

Legolas simply nodded.The words had been differently, but the context and the implications had been exactly what his father was telling him now. Actually, the incident when he had overheard a few of his father’s warriors talking about such matters after a few goblets of mead had not been long ago; and worse, his own brother had been among those who had spoken about it in such an ill manner. For a moment, the young elf wondered if he should say so, but at the end he refrained —after all, eavesdropping was not any better, and what good would ever come from it?

With a sad smile, Thranduil shook his head, and it was as if anger now shone from his eyes. “Does it feel uncomfortable in any way, or does it make you uncomfortable? Because if that is the case I will stop, and we certainly do not have to do this if you do not enjoy it.”

Again, Legolas simply shook his head.

“See, meleth, they are idiots, as I have said before. Too quick are some to judge without knowing anything about what they are talking about; in these matters and in others, too. As much as I wish this would not happen, I know what I cannot prevent it entirely.” Still, he was determined to pay the training grounds a visit sooner rather than later. “Where we usually have to carefully consider what a certain response from our side might evoke, what impact it has on others, especially when it comes to political relations, desire and love are different matters entirely. Where love is concerned, anything that pleases both partners and does not bring permanent harm is allowed. Never forget that.”

Even if Legolas failed to understand the true depths of what his father was saying, the words were enough to set something deep within him ablaze; wasn’t this what he had always dreamt of? Wasn’t what he had witnessed a few months ago also… well, rather unconventional? Why should they restrain themselves if they both enjoyed what they did? And more: Weren’t they already breaking existing ruleswith what they did in the secrecy of the night?

“I won’t,” he replied at last with a subtle nod of consent, and was surprised by the most charming smile on his father’s lips, a sight that burned into his mind like so many others recently.

“Very well,” Thranduil whispered against his thigh before he lowered his head again until his mouth was in position to continue his wicked task; gently, he blew over the exposed entrance until an audible response could be heard from above. Momentarily, Legolas was lost upon the unfamiliar touch against his private parts, but he forced himself to at least give this a try. If it was entirely not to his liking he could easily tell his lover to stop, knowing that Thranduil would heed his request without discussing it or judging him for it, but before he could think any further, he made the most obscene noise he had probably ever made in his life.

He felt his lover’s tongue push carefully into him, and the thought alone was so absolutely sinful that all doubts and regrets were blown from his mind immediately, and confidence returned with every breathy sigh.

“FUCK,” Legolas hissed, struggling for coherence that would not come, as beneath the light touch of his lover’s tongue the muscle began to relax further, almost sucking the tongue inside of him.

What his lover was doing made it impossible to keep quiet, and at one point the young elf did not want to be quiet even if he could. Uncontrolled he writhed and threw his head from side to the other as his lover’s tongue drew tiny circles around the most sensitive and intimate part of his body. Over and over again, before he finally pushed inside fully. The attempts to hold back were futile; within seconds a helpless string of moans escaped his lips and it only seemed to spur his lover on further. Eagerly, Thranduil began to suck and nip at his entrance, pushing inside with the tip of his tongue only to withdraw again. Incoherent words simply tumbled from his son’s lips, and for a moment the king pitied himself for not being able to see his lover’s face for a while, but the vocal exclamations of his arousal were thrilling enough, he had to admit.

Legolas’ voice was rough and hoarse when he attempted to speak once more: “What is this, oh fuck… can’t breathe… can’t think,” the words fell from his lips, a little dull, hazed by the ecstatic state he was in. These words only seemed to encourage Thranduil all the more; almost greedily he licked and kissed the rim of muscles, pushing his tongue deep inside until Legolas’ entire body jerked above him, until he had him thrashing and tossing above him. Oh, and those noises he made, those wonderful little whines and hearty gasps. As time progressed, he felt his own face flush from the continuous and unrelenting assault of his lips and tongue, and each little change in angle ripped yet another sharp gasp from his lover’s lips.

Obscene this truly was, but oh hell, it felt so good.

So extraordinarily good —and maybe the obscenity was exactly **_WHY_** he felt like he did; so lost in sensation he was that he did not even have words to describe the emotions. Desperately he attempted to keep still, but if he was honest, it was an attempt that held little weight when the wicked tongue pushed past the ring of muscle once more.

All sense of time and space, of last restraint, was soon dissolving, and finally his mind gave fully into the enticing sensations; his eyes had long fallen shut, his hands weaved into his lover’s silken strands. Ghostly touches of fingertips mingled with the wicked and exploring tongue, shifting their position from his entrance towards his cock and then back again until he was reduced to a quivering and panting mess, probably exactly the point where Thranduil wished to have him all along. With every moan that fell from his lips, the pace increased and the tongue drove repeatedly inside him, opening him — no, fucking him open, in the most glorious way. At one point, a finger replaced the tongue, and the attention of his lover’s lips was directed to his cock once more; where Thranduil had been hesitant at the very beginning of this night, he now was more than eager, desperate even. Legolas’ entire body went rigid, and his hips thrust forward as his entire cock disappeared completely between those sensual lips, until Thranduil’s nose brushed against the soft skin of his pelvis.

Oh he was close, so very close, and the words that fell from his lips were nothing more than tiny whimpers. “Please… more,” he panted without even noticing that he had said a single word, but his wish was heeded instantly.

Too close he was, and his entire body simply felt too good as the finger fucked him, his cock buried so deep that it almost brushed against his lover’s throat. Legolas wishedit would never end, but he was unable to restrain himself any longer, shamelessly pushing his arse against the finger — quivering, his legs trembling around Thranduil’s shoulders —and Thranduil seemed to smile at his futile attempts. He pulled his finger out once more and pushed deeply inside, sucking frantically around his lover’s cock until he felt the traitorous twitch in his mouth that announced Legolas’ defeat in his internal struggle.

“Ada… oh help, please,” he heard him cry out above him as warm seed filled his mouth, as his lover’s body trashed and spasmed in the heights of orgasm, which did not seem to ebbvery quickly.

For a long moment, Legolas couldn’t say a single word, reveling in the intensity of his climax; no matter how hard he tried nothing would leave his lips. He felt himself being loweredgently into the warm water again, his limp body carefully cradled against his father’s strong chest. Every time when he thought his orgasm could not be any more intense, his wildest dream were frankly surpassed, and he was catapulted into new spheres of bliss and beauty.

He was barely aware of the soft lips that ghosted across the nape of his neck, trailing along his jawline. “Idiots indeed,” whispered Legolas, still recovering from the mind-blowing climax he just had witnessed, “that was… amazing.” And amazing was most likely even an underestimate; at least that was what Thranduil read from his lover’s flushed face.

Easily those softly spoken words would lull him into the deepest of slumber, of that Legolas was certain. “I told you so,” he said in response, placing a soft kiss to the top of his head. “Shall we call it a night, then?”

In his post-orgasmic haze, the young elf only managed to nod, and he was forever grateful that he was not supposed to walk back to the bed himself but was instead being carried. Oh so many words rushed through his head, but his mind, frustratingly, could come up with a single response; words were failing him utterly.

 

**~~**

Legolas shifted closer against his father’s warm body, his movements barely a sound in the stillness of the night, with only the moon as their spectator.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ..Feedback would be totally awesome..


	6. Choose wisely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After indulging in the pleasantries of doing nothing for too long, Thranduil orders Legolas to resume his training lessons, and when he meets Fergil he struggles to keep his emotions at bay, much to his father’s disappointment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **[Tags]** \- Explicit language, swear words, physical violence, arguments, mention of past-events  
>  **[Beta]** \- Many thanks (again) to my lovely beta [OohLaGalion](http://archiveofourown.org/users/OohLaGalion/pseuds/OohLaGalion) for the amazing work on this chapter :)
> 
> ..I know.. I know.. the update has taken ages. I am sorry.

**Choose wisely**

*****

\---

Hours became days, and rather easily days became weeks without Legolas even noticing it, as with such almost frightening ease their daily life began to settle and routines were established.

Not routines the young elf had always loathed, because for him routines were usually not something he was overly fond of — they implied boredom.

But this was different on so many levels. Their routines behind closed doors and curtains were all but boring! Instead they became accustomed to each other, found out what they mutually enjoyed, how to touch and kiss, how to caress such that a mere kiss was enough to leave the other trembling.

How on earth could something so divine become boring?

It never could, of that Legolas is absolutely certain. He would never tire of watching his father caught in the throes of passion with the knowledge that it was he who was responsible for the king’s hazy state of mind. Already the image was edged into his mind: lips parted, blond hair cascading over broad shoulders, eyes tightly shut. When he closed his eyes he saw the contours of his father’s body behind his eyelids in a faint afterglow.

Still, and despite all the happiness he felt, from time to time Legolas could hardly believe that any of it was real, because basically his life consisted of nothing more than sinful explorations and pleasure. Contrary to what Thranduil had told him a few weeks ago, until now he was spared the boring council meetings, the lessons with his father’s stern advisors he was actually not looking forward too; he had stayed away from the training fields as well — for obvious reasons, although from time to time he missed the other elves who had become his friends over the years.

For many days he had done nothing apart from wholeheartedly indulging in the realms of sin.

_‘Indulging in what I was born to do,’_ Legolas mused with closed eyes, lying on his father’s bed stark naked, stretching languidly against the ruffled sheets.

Midday had long passed — but what did it matter? He was free to do whatever it pleased him, what with Thranduil being gone for many hours already, at some meeting Legolas had not cared to ask about. And although he still felt a little sore from last night, he couldn’t help but start fantasizing of how he had found himself on his knees between his father’s legs again.

As always his thoughts spun further, and his hands snuck downwards.

Life was good.

Everything seemed perfect, so beyond breathtakingly perfect, until Thranduil announced with such nonchalance after another heated night that he wished him to resume his training among the kingdom’s soldiers. At first, Legolas had not understood, still lingering in the sweet state of post-orgasmic haze, inhaling his father’s unique scent, listening to his even breathing; but then the words had come again, and violently he was torn from the beautiful haze.

With wide eyes he had looked at him then, and had remained quiet for a while, but in the end, reluctantly and with great dismay, he had agreed. What else should he have said?

After all, his father was right.

He always was.

Suspicions arose all too easily, and those whispered rumors and chattered gossip wafted along the endless corridors.

If his father assumed he did not exercise, he was mistaken, as it was not so; often when Thranduil was gone he had snuck outside their shared chambers, had relentlessly shot arrow after arrow into the innocent trunk that served as a target until it was covered with them.

Yet whatever he did, it never seemed to be enough.

“Legolas, your due place shall be among the best warriors of this realm, and therefore I expect you to improve your skills by training with them,” Thranduil had said, and how on earth should he have responded?

_‘Oh, gladly I would, but pardon me that I cannot deal with that godforsaken bastard who went down on you. Pardon me that I cannot see him with indifference anymore, because all I see and imagine is his wicked mouth around your cock.’_

Hardly.

Without hesitation Thranduil had continued, voice soft yet demanding obedience: “And just because you share my bed in a way you never should, I cannot exclude you from your obligations; you know all too well how easily gossip spreads within these halls.”

“Aye,” was all that had come past his lips; so much more he had wished to say, but he lacked the words; he simply wasn’t good at expressing himself.

“Good,” his father had responded then, with the little tilt of his head to his side which was so typical for him, playing idly with a strand of Legolas’ hair as. For him it did not mean anything; for the young elf, however, it meant the world.

Inwardly Legolas fumed, and the thought how to deal with the situation did not leave him, not even when his mind should have been focused on sucking his beloved to completion; all he saw was the pretty image Fergil on his knees right before him.

 

**Several days later**

___

Legolas did as he was told.

For a few days everything had been well, he had sparred with his much-missed companions, and much to his surprise Fergil was absent the entire time. Nobody knew why, and carefully Legolas avoided asking, afraid to give himself away by uttering too many questions.

_‘Be wary.’_ The words his father had said still constantly rang in his ears. ' _Nobody must ever know, nobody must ever suspect.’_ That much Legolas knew already. Nevertheless from time to time he wondered if any of his companions had noticed a change in his demeanor.

The entire week the dark-haired Noldor was absent, and if Legolas had his way, Fergil could stay away forever. At first he was shocked by his own disdainful thoughts, but this was exactly how he felt. Never before, in all the years, had he loathed somebody with such ridiculous intensity, especially as they were getting along rather well before the incident, and his brother was even closer to the captain of the guard. Never before had he felt such blind rage and hatred towards another being — he who was usually described as kind, loyal and friendly. Bu things can change, rather easily so.

Former friendship or not — because to him Fergil has forsaken his right to call him a friend the moment he went down on his father’s cock. Couldn’t he be gone already from his father’s realm?

He did not even feel guilty for what he felt. Fergil could rot wherever he was.

Day after day Legolas came to the training fields, sparred with fellow soldiers, trained in archery and swords play. Afterwards, he returned to his father’s chambers in an extraordinarily good mood, indulging in an entirely different kind of play.

He was born to fight (he was born for other things, too, he thought to himself, and a blush followed instantly), not for council meetings, not to sit the time away doing nothing.

Although his rank required the study and art of both, and Legolas was well aware of it, he was glad that Thranduil had decided to let the matter rest at least a little while longer.

The night was theirs, and theirs alone, a sacred divinity amidst the veil of darkness that covered the land.

Protected. Secluded.

Hiding their sin from prying eyes.

 

\----

The day was as good as any other, apart from the fact that every fiber of his lower body seemed to hurt. It was his own fault, of course — it always was — and he was the only one who could be blamed for his miserable state.

“Legolas,” Thranduil’s words echoed through his mind as he awkwardly stepped down the stairs that lead away from the great gate, warm air embracing him. “Do you deem this a wise idea?”

“Well, I would not call it wise, exactly, but appealing nonetheless,” he had answered with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. In fact he couldn’t find it in himself to care anymore once the insane idea had snuck into his mind. It was not so that he had suffered from sexual starvation that night — quite the contrary, as twice already his father had claimed his young body in frantic desire.

After taking a shower, instead of returning to the bedchamber, where Thranduil certainly awaited him, he had snuck outside the opposite entrance and moved towards the dining room, where he draped himself across the table, adjusting his position and fanning out his damp hair.

Ever since the first time they have done it, he couldn’t get rid of the image of finding himself being fucked relentlessly across the table.

“Ada, help,” he called out, feigning to be hurt, as this was something that would certainly lure Thranduil out of the silken sheets. Actually, Legolas had to bite back a snicker when he spoke, and almost failed to sound sincerely hurt.

In the distance the rustling of silk could be heard, followed by the sound of footsteps, and his smirk only broadened all the more when his father stepped into the room.

Thranduil regarded him with raised eyebrows, and a flush began to spread over his skin.

“Explain yourself,” he demanded, arms crossed in front of his chest. Oh he was glorious in his nudity, still regal and impressive as if he were wearing the finest robes.

“Do I have to, truly?” Legolas asked coyly, licking along his parted lips.

“Yes.” Thranduil’s gaze was burning, laced with longing and arousal.

With half-lidded eyes Legolas drew in a deep breath, using all his heart to repeat the words that were caught in his mind aloud: “Fuck me. Here. Please?”

And at this, the question of whether he deemed it wise had followed; the feeling of ecstasy vibrated against his skin when his father’s teeth grazed along his collarbone, his throat, his ears, and his own answer was nearly lost in a string of moans. In the end, and much to his delight, Thranduil obliged and fucked him amidst the papers that were soon flying down onto the floor — intensely, maddeningly, until his body thrashed and tossed beneath him. Yet it hadn’t seemed to be enough, because he had demanded a few other things in addition — harder, more, take my legs over your shoulders — among them, and now he had to pay dearly for it.

Still it was worth all the suffering, and the thought alone was enough to make something stir against his thigh.

When he reached the training grounds it was still very early, and as usual nobody was present.

Well, until of late he hadn’t been either. Given his father’s restlessness in the morning he often rose as well, if only to pull a kiss from his lips before he left for the day.

He should have stayed in his father’s chambers, he really should have, Legolas cursed silently, because every step he took, every move he made hurt, sent a tremor through is body, and training with his sword seemed nearly impossible.

Soon he switched the weapons. He preferred a bow and arrow anyways. Archery was his burning passion, although he knew all too well that it was indeed sword fighting he needed more training in.

Arrow after arrow lodged itself in the target with a load _‘thong’_ — draw, aim, release — and then again; five, ten, twenty arrows adorned the target until his quiver was empty and he had to retrieve them. After that, the game began anew — draw, aim, release. From time to time even with his eyes closed or with the bow in his left hand.

So occupied the prince was with what he was doing that for a while he did not even notice others beginning to fill the training grounds as they began their regular training sessions.

“Oh what a surprise,” a voice rang out from the distance when the sun was already high up in the sky. Tightly Legolas’ hand clenched around the bow the moment his mind registered who was talking to him. He suppressed the urge to run away. “Pardon me, but I did not expect to find you here.”

His worst nightmare seemed to have come alive.

_‘Neither have I — nor did wish to.’_ The words lay upon his tongue, but for once he simply tried to ignore Fergil, and aimed at the target. Naturally, whilst all his previous shots had dead on target, despite the constant ache between his legs, this one failed utterly and disappeared into the dense shrubs.

“I thought your father, our king has locked you away in dusty council chambers to become a dull advisor?” Fergil asked nonchalantly. At least he remained silent in regard to the horrible performance Legolas had just given.

Evenly he breathed to keep the anger out of his voice. “Nay,” Legolas said, without bothering to turn around. It took a lot of effort to control his rising anger, to not give away how much he was struggling to keep his composure.

_‘Begone already.’_ The words nearly spilled past his lips, and he had to bite down hard to avoid exactly this. Such a nuisance the elf was, and why on earth did he need to pester him when there were at least ten others present? “Although it is true that I might partake in council meetings and political negotiations in the future, I still shall continue my education as a warrior of this realm.” Like honey the words dripped from his lips, and he wished that Fergil would simply let the matter rest if he just acted civilized around him.

Of course, he hoped in vain, as Fergil did not move away an inch, but stepped instead, closer to where he still stood, rooted to the ground. With unease Legolas felt his burning gaze upon his back.

_‘Can’t he simply leave?’_

_‘Can’t he just go away?’_

“Very well,” Fergil began, and to Legolas it was as if every word he said carried a mocking note, as if he was amusing himself at the prince’s expense, “then show me if you're worthy of being still counted among the best archers.”

By now, he was certain that Fergil was indeed shamelessly mocking him; after all, he has seen how he had failed previously. Bitter bile pooled in his stomach, and anger rose within him, made him tremble and his hands quiver — not the perfect circumstances under which to demonstrate his skill. Sharply Legolas drew in a breath in a futile attempt to steady his composure before he took three steps forwards to get a bit away from his captain, and aimed at the target.

With a loud swoosh the arrow disappeared somewhere in the shrubs behind the wall that enclosed the training yards.

“Lad, what’s the matter with you today?” Fergil asked, feigning innocence, but reveling in the young elf’s defeat at the same time when Legolas moved towards where the arrow had went, “had a rough night, as it seems, given your mental absence and how you walk and stand.” He chuckled, maliciously so.

With every word uttered, Legolas’ eyes grew wide and wider still; certainly he must have misheard, but he had not, as the following question affirmed. “Now, who is the lucky one who has deflowered aran nín’s precious son? Say, does he know?” Mockery marred Fergil’s gaze, and low and amused his voice was, “Does he even suspect that it is male company you prefer to bare tits and dripping mounds?”

At that point Legolas lost it.

What was Fergil even thinking, speaking to him in such a disrespectful manner?

What business was it of his?

Myriad thoughts rushed through him — worry, fear, and hatred — and without much thought he spun around and smashed his bow onto the ground before he leapt forward. Legolas shouted, both hands clenched into fists in pure anger; that all the other elves present at the training ground were staring at him in disbelief at his vocal outburst was entirely lost on the prince.

“You bastard,” he yelled with a crackling voice, as he pounced on Fergil; the fight broke out in an instant as uncontrolled he threw punches at the startled elf’s chest. “You god-forsaken bastard! Who do you think you are, apart from being an utter and depraved arse? Gods I hate you, with all my heart I do!” And before Fergil could comprehend what was happening, Legolas sent him down scrambling for the dusty floor (which certainly would not have happened if Fergil had expected such a fierce reaction from the young elf, but apparently he had not) and was upon him.

His knees pressed into his side and his stomach, and automatically Fergil tried to jolt backwards, shoving the prince off him.

“Legolas!” Fergil screamed when the first fist hit his face, eyes widened in surprise, shock and pain, and for the blink of the moment, Legolas reveled in the odd expression he had never before seen on his captain’s face. He had taught the young son of the king for many years now, and never before he had he been involved in the ridiculous fights that occurred every now and then over nothing. “Get off me this instant!”

Legolas did not even think about it.

That Fergil was his superior, that he was bound to obey him did not even occur to him in his state of mind; he only brought down his fists harder.

“No, you arrogant arse,” he spat whilst he slapped him with all his strength, and rather helplessly Fergil tried to at least cover his face with his arms from the vicious assault. “Who do you think you are? Just because my father used to fuck you, you think you are better than I am? Than we all are?”

So enraged Legolas was that he did not even notice what exactly he had screamed, words he certainly would not have said if he wouldn’t he have lost his wits due to his insane jealously.

Briefly their eyes met. Fergil’s eyes flashed like steel, and his cheeks had turned bright crimson.

“What nonsense! Shut up you spoiled brat, and get off me,” Fergil hissed, struggling underneath him to free himself, but before he could throw the Legolas off him, Thranduil’s strong voice echoed across the training fields, and he stopped dead in his tracks.

“Legolas! Let him go!” thundered Thranduil across the distance. “Have you lost all your wits?”

No matter how loud the king screamed, his son was entirely unimpressed as he continued his furious assault on the poor Captain of the Guard. Perhaps he had not even heard him in all his rage.

“Legolas!” he repeated as he loomed above the fighting pair, and simultaneously grabbed him roughly by the neck, tearing him off the dark-haired elf, choking him as he did so. “What is the meaning of this? Let go of him and calm down, for Illuvatar’s sake.”

His words were said in vain, as Legolas continued to struggle against his father’s firm hold, futilely so as he was dragged away from Fergil with all the strength Thranduil could muster, tossing and thrashing his long legs in desperate hope to manage to escape. “Have you lost your senses?” asked Thranduil, once they were a few meters away from where the scene had unfolded, his voice scolding and devoid of the usual affection it usually carried when he spoke with his son.

By now, the prince stood on his own feet again, sweating and slumped, chest heaving and covered with dust all over. Much to his dismay his father had not removed his hand, and held him in place, knowing all too well that he would most likely run away if he dared to let him go. Legolas’ breath came ragged, and his cheeks were flushed with all the anger that rushed through him. The malicious words simply spilled past his lips without thinking. “One day I will kill him, I swear by everything that is dear to me.”

It was certainly not what Thranduil had expected to hear; instead he waited for an apology that never came, something that only made his volatile temper flare. “How dare you?” the king roared like Legolas has never heard him before, and roughly then he grabbed him by his chin to make him look at him until Legolas flinched in response. “I do not wish to hear such words in my realm. Is that understood? Do you even know what you are saying? Yes? Good, now leave and get out of my sight this instant!” His voice was devoid of all kindness — icy, malicious even — his eyes glittering dangerously, and like a wave his father’s words crushed down on him.

Legolas only stared at him wide-eyed, and all of a sudden he felt so small, so vulnerable — indeed more miserable than he had ever felt before. They had never had an argument before, at least not such a fierce one, and never had his father told him that he wanted him out of his sight.

“Go to your rooms. NOW!” he ordered, eying him with fierce anger and disappointment. Legolas’ heart seemed to miss a beat when he understood the true meaning behind his father’s words, which stung with such violence, stabbing him, robbing him off his breath. “And don’t you dare set a foot outside until I return. Is that understood?”

Silence fell before Legolas at last croaked out, rather silently, “Yes.”

The king’s icy gaze seemed to burn into his skin. “What did you say? I cannot hear you.” Thranduil pretend that he had not heard him — a lie, of that Legolas was certain, and the only reason he had done it was to humiliate, degrade him further in front of everyone to see and hear. Gods, he hadn't known how cruel his father could be, especially not to the one he claimed to love, to cherish. “And look at me when I am speaking to you.”

He almost spat his reply in defiance, as tears began to collect in his eyes. “Yes, adar nín,” he hissed through gritted teeth.

Thranduil seemed entirely unimpressed as he regarded him with indifference, his voice low and dangerous. “Watch your tongue, and be assured that this conversation is not over. We will discuss your insolent behavior once my council is over.”

_‘Yes, yes, I will,’_ he said to himself, and turned around to leave, but not without giving Fergil a last threatening glance. A maelstrom of emotions thundered through his head -- defeat, hatred, worry — as he marched away from the crime scene as far as he could with his hurting backside, knowing all too well that all eyes were on him. He bit down on his lower lip do divert the pain. He wouldn’t give Fergil the satisfaction to show weakness. He simply wouldn’t!

_‘Did he mean MY rooms or did he mean HIS rooms?’_ Legolas asked himself as he hushed back through the corridors, head bent in shame and anger, yet he couldn’t find an answer to his question until he stood right on the spot where the corridors diverted. Well, given that he had been spending all of his time in his father’s presence, in the king’s room, and given that Thranduil desired to speak with him later (much to his dismay), he decided on the obvious: the king’s chambers.

_‘What if Fergil told him? What if his secret was out? What if…? Gods, what if?’_

Without much thought he unlocked the door and slipped inside, shaking and close to tears.

 

*****

Once Legolas was out of earshot, Thranduil turned towards where Fergil stood, wiping the dust off his clothes and removing straw from his dark braids. “And now you. What did you say or do to provoke such a reaction?” he asked calmly but with a threatening edge to his voice. Deep inside his stomach something boiled, gurgled up his throat. Never before had he seen his beloved son act in such a manner, seen his eyes so furiously glittering. He had felt the maelstrom of Legolas' emotions through their bond; it was what had brought him down to the training fields in the first place.

“Nothing, my lord,” responded the dark-haired elf, shaking his hair free of dust and dried leaves. Thranduil watched him closely, and evidently he was not hurt, at least not severely, something for which he was eternally grateful; for a moment he considered what might have occurred if Legolas had carried a dagger with him, or an ordinary knife even; he did not dare to think any further, as his son’s words, _‘one time I will kill him,’_ echoed in his head again.

What bitter irony!

Thranduil had been barely past his majority when Doriath was sacked for the godforsaken jewel by Fergil’s kin, assaulting the Sindar under Dior’s rule, destroying the cavernous city to never rise again.

Madness! Nothing more than an insane madness, and all too well Legolas knew his grandfather’s history and everything that came with it; their restless flight, their first settlement in Amon Lanc, and later where they now reside. At first, Thranduil had indeed thought he had misheard his son, because the concept of killing his own kin had always been beyond him. He had never understood why anybody would commit such a grievous and unforgiving crime — and now Legolas had screamed such malicious and dangerous words himself.

It was beyond his understanding.

With wide eyes Fergil regarded him, and Thranduil wondered if he had heard what Legolas had muttered under his breath as he had carried him away; he hoped that this was not the case. “He would not have reacted as he did for no reason. Do. Not. Lie,” Thranduil forced out after a long silence, his voice truly befitting for a king. He was certain that something must have occurred between them; however, it was beyond him what on earth it could have been to have provoked such a fierce reaction from his innocent son. “What was this all about, and do not make me ask a third time.”

“A joke,” Fergil admitted, “nothing more than an admittedly distasteful pun among warriors. He was completely absent when I expressed my surprise to see him on the training field, upon which he glared at me. Well, his absence and the awkward way he walked allowed me to draw only one conclusion — which I have expressed vocally. I merely asked him if he had had a rough and exhausting night.”

Thranduil inclined his head, and perspiration began to collect on his brow; he hadn’t assumed that Legolas’ state of mind and body was so obvious — although it was hardly a surprise that he was in constant pain — otherwise he might have forbidden him from coming down to spar. And as for Fergil — Thranduil was familiar with the crude jokes uttered on the training grounds, and also with Fergil’s rather unconventional sense of humor. Truth be told, Thranduil was not overly fond of the improper way the elves behaved down here on the training fields and during border patrol, because in his eyes it was entirely inappropriate. Yet there was nothing he could do to prevent it. Nobody was hurt, and nobody was harmed by it, and over the years everybody became the victim of these pranks. Unimpressed, Fergil continued, “Apparently my words have hit the mark, because his expression transformed just before he attacked me. You know what look I am speaking of, and it is almost as if you carry the same look — only you have mastered your emotions to the point of concealing them. If so, my humble congratulations.”

“And that was all?” Thranduil raised an eyebrow, deciding to ignore the last remark as he would not be tricked into a response.

Fergil nodded. “Aye. Nothing more, I promise.” Steadily Fergil held his gaze, his grey eyes glittering in the sunlight, shimmering like the silver threads adorning his tunic. He was beautiful, so very different in his outer appearance than Thranduil or the Silvan elves of his kingdom were. “How many years have you know me now, my lord? And how long have you been familiar with the jokes I make?”

“Long,” confirmed Thranduil. Fergil, like Galion, had already served under his father’s rule in Amon Lanc, many centuries ago — actually, longer than Galion, because he has come with him from the Noldorian settlement in Lindon. He is not entirely certain why, but now is hardly the time to ask. Of course his father had told him something when he had asked, but for reasons he could not even explain to himself he suddenly doubted the truth of Oropher’s explanation.

“Much to your father’s surprise, I have been loyal to him throughout the years and afterwards to you as well. Where I was once regarded — let me repeat King Oropher’s words -- _‘Noldor scum,’_ I gained his trust, at least a little. Your father was a terrible racist, and you well know it. My lord, you yourself have hated his behavior with all your heart, as you have suffered from it; and I do not dare to think that you would raise and educate your sons to become like he was. Anyway,” he said, noticing that he was trailing off from what he wanted to say, “you are well aware of the fact that down here, under my command, everybody is treated the same, according to their rank, not status obtained by birthright. No matter if he’s the prince or the stable-master’s boy, they all need to obey. Pardon me if I have failed to treat the young princeling with kid gloves.”

For a long moment Thranduil regarded him in silence, brows creased because actually he did not like the last remark as Legolas certainly deserved respect. They need to talk about this, but right now Thranduil felt as if it wasn’t the best moment. The longer Fergil spoke the more he was convinced that he spoke the truth, which made it all the harder to explain his son’s behavior.

It was odd, at best.

“I know,” the king began. Throughout all the years he had been extremely satisfied with his captain’s work, otherwise he would have stripped him off all titles long ago. His captains had been chosen carefully over the past centuries, — one by one after long years of observation, the best warriors his kingdom had to offer, highly skilled in the arts of war, beautiful with their fluid, graceful motions, yet deadly if necessary. All the elves of his realm were dear to him, from the common cook to the high-ranked soldier. Sinda or Silvan. To him it mattered not. “You know that I completely agree with your methods; on the battlefield nobody cares if you are a king, of noble blood or a mere soldier. We all know this, have seen it perhaps too often. You above all. Once my kingly duties and obligations are over, I will talk some sense into my insolent son, as I do not have an explanation for what he has said and done. For now, all I can do is to apologize for his inappropriate behavior. Be assured, it will not happen again.”

“Hannon le,” Fergil said, and despite all his years in his and his father's service, his Sindarin was still highly accented. A faint smile tugged at his lips as he bowed down slightly before his superior, “but worry not too much, I have experienced worse — much worse — throughout the years, especially when I came into your father’s service.” Thranduil merely nodded, for Fergil’s suggestion was vague. Some things that had happened he knew, but for some reason he felt as if there was more to his story, something Fergil had never spoken about, perhaps, and he wondered what that might be, but Fergil’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “He is still young, barely past his majority, and assuming he is truly experiencing being in love for the first time, his mental absence is more than understandable. We all had to go through it at one point.”

Thranduil was treading on dangerous ground, and he knew it; Fergil’s wits were sharp, they always had been, and all too easily their secret could be revealed; but his words didn’t hold malice, only understanding. That was, in fact, what worried him most: that at one point Legolas would simply say or do something without thinking about it, giving enough away for others to figure it out.

Cautiously he weighed his words before he uttered them: “Be it love or not, lashing out in such a disrespectful manner towards one he should obey is unacceptable.”

Thranduil meant every word; be it son or not, he would not tolerate it within his halls. He never had, and he never would!

“I will not speak against you in this matter, aran nín, nor will I give you any advice about how to punish him if you see punishment fit. After all, he is your son and heir, and you know best how to treat him,” Fergil said with sincerity. “Good day.”

 

*****

The hours drew long, extraordinarily so, as Legolas awaited his father’s return.

He couldn’t eat. He couldn’t sleep. He could hardly think with all the emotions rushing through his head. Desperately he wished it was a dream, nothing more than a nightmare he was still caught in, although he knew he was not. This was real, all too real, as it was what he had done earlier this day, and the longer he sat there and waited the more miserable he felt. Soft sunlight fell through the windows, but he could not find it in himself to care, idly wandering from one room to another without finding any rest.

Momentarily, he wished that his father, his lover, would return already, but at the same time he wished he would not; the mere thought of facing his wrath again made him tremble.

_‘What if Fergil told him? What if…?’_

Another tear spilled down his cheeks.

_‘Why was it so hard to keep his emotions at bay? Why couldn’t he keep his mouth shout?’_

It was not the ferociously burning pain of his writs where Fergil had slapped him, nor the ache from the previous night that made his innards twinge. It was the worry that his dream would shatter into a thousand pieces once Thranduil stepped through the heavy door.

Darkness had already descended when the door to his father’s chambers creaked slowly open.

Briefly, Legolas entertained the thought if he should pretend to have fallen asleep to spare himself his father’s wrath a little longer, but the words that followed the smash of the door would have awoken a corpse, so he sat upright, staring into the dancing flames of the fire until he dared to look over his shoulder.

His father looked tired, he noticed, regarding him with reddened and exhausted eyes. “Is it true that all Fergil said was: _‘It seems you have had a rough night?’_ ” Thranduil thundered as his eyes fell upon Legolas, who sat crossed legged on the chaise longue.

Instead of replying, Legolas played idly with his fingers, gaze cast downwards in all his misery. Nothing more had Fergil said indeed.

When he remained silent for a while longer, Thranduil strode swiftly across the room, coming to stand right before him, almost looming above him. “Answer me!” he hissed so derisively that Legolas flinched in his seat, and for a moment he feared that his father would physically assault him, backhand him across the face as he perhaps deserved it.

The fact that in all his anger the king, his father, was still utter grace, his body adorned with the richest of garments, only made it worse. If it hadn't been for his insolent behavior he could have had it all, could send the fine garments falling to the floor; the thought pained him, all the more when Thranduil obviously demanded an answer from him.

“Aye,” at last he admitted in words that were barely audible, “but..”

He did not come very far as Thranduil interrupted him immediately, impatiently stepping from one foot to the other. “What was the reason for your insolent _‘performance’_ earlier today?”

Briefly, Legolas dared to look upwards, but averted his eyes not a second later, because he could not stand the furious look on his father’s face. He caught the sigh of how he shook his head in dismay from the corner of his eyes, eyebrows delicately quirked, expression hardened further if that was even possible. “Nothing more than _'but'_? For once, there is no _'but'_! What did you think you were doing? Your behavior earlier was unacceptable, entirely so. You are a soldier of this realm; you are prince and heir to this kingdom. Have you truly lost your wits and forgotten your manners on the way?”

By all the gods, what should he reply?

His mind was reeling, yet no sufficient answer came to him.

He had lost his nerves completely, out of nothing, Thranduil must assume. “Ada… nay.” He felt his voice wavering and avoided his father’s unyielding gaze.

Where he had hoped for a soft touch maybe, a gentle word — anything at all that would give him reassurance -- there came nothing of the sort as Thranduil remained entirely unimpressed by his miserable state. For a few seconds Legolas wondered if he took delight in torturing him so. Could they not simply forget what had happened down on the training fields? Apparently Thranduil couldn’t; the words that followed confirmed as much. “Nay? Then please have the courtesy to tell me what this is all about.”

Legolas’ lips remained tightly shut.

“I am waiting.” Even closer Thranduil stepped then, looming over his son’s quivering form. Again, not a single syllable slipped past the young elf’s lips, and anger rose within the king, Legolas noticed by the exaggerated sigh that slipped past his father’s lips. “About nothing, then? Very well,” Thranduil said in such an icy tone, words upon which pain knotted in his chest.

For the first time in his life he felt as if he hated his father, because never, not once he can remember his father having spoken to him in such a manner, not throughout his entire life. Indeed with every second that passed his heart sank, and he could have cried with anger and frustration alike.

This wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t.

Thranduil grabbed his chin tightly to make his son looked at him at last, his fingertips digging into the fair skin so hard that Legolas was certain his jaw would break. “Do you think that just because I fuck you, you can take every liberty you wish?”

The words stung, bitterly so, and Legolas could not stop the tears from falling. Helplessly he sobbed, wiping away his tears with the end of his sleeve.

“If so, you are mistaken, gravely so.”

Never before had Thranduil spoken to him in such a way.

NEVER.

Not even once.

Twice he had started to choke out a lie, but every word was drowned in his sobbing.

Resentment glittered in his father’s eyes. “If you are not inclined to speak with me, so be it. But know that your behavior was entirely inappropriate, as I have said before. You refuse to answer my questions, you disobey your superiors — twice already today,” he continued to admonish him, “I cannot tolerate such defiant behavior, ion nín. What is it that you wish for? A scolding punishment, perhaps?”

He had never received one.

_‘Yes, please.’_ Legolas gasped at the direction his thoughts had taken. Everything was at stake, and all his mind could ever think of was to get punished and laid thereafter in an entirely inappropriate way.

What in the world was wrong with him?

Gladly, and much to Legolas' relief, the king continued his monologue without having sensed his improper thoughts through their bond. “A lesson in respect and manners? Perhaps -- I might consider. Right now there are two options for you. Namely, either you give a proper explanation for you behavior NOW, or you will leave these rooms and go to your own chambers, where you shall have enough peace and quiet to reconsider your deeds and choices.”

Legolas' mouth dropped open. Did he truly mean what he'd said?

Gods this was so cruel, so beyond unfair, and what on earth was he supposed to do? Tremor after tremor rushed through him, and he shook and quivered despite the warmth provided by the fire.

With disdain Thranduil regarded him through narrowed eyes when he did not move but remained frozen to the spot as if he was rooted there. “So?” he inquired, losing both his patience and composure, “choose wisely.”

The board was set, as was Legolas' mind. He would not give away his secret, because even if he does not know why, Fergil apparently has not said a word.

As much as he wished it would have gone differently, he saw no other option.

“Good night, Adar,” Legolas croaked, voice choked with unshed tears and sadness. Swiftly he sprang to his feet and strode past him without bothering to look again, because he could not stand the image Thranduil was presenting, and left the room as quickly as he could without running.

Thranduil’s burning gaze on his back followed him; of course it did. What had he expected?

“Legolas?” The king said the moment before his son reached for the handle of the door, and the young elf stopped dead in his tracks. “Tomorrow I will train you myself; the moment the sun rises across the horizon I expect you to be at the small clearing nearby. You know which one I am speaking of. And do not forget to bring your weapons. Is that understood?”

The words seemed faint to his ears, barely piercing through his veiled mind, but nevertheless he replied. Could it get any worse, Legolas thought just before he muttered under his breath, “Aye,” just wishing to be gone already.

The moment he was out of sight, the tears streamed heavily down his burning cheeks, and he already knew they would not subside for a very long time.

*****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well.. I have rather specific thoughts about Oropher (which are not entirely in his favor) due to canon evidence for him being a racist. I may or may not dive a bit deeper into Fergil's story and how he came into Oropher's/Thranduil's service at one point because I finally I have made up my mind about his backstory.   
> Anyways.. hope you've enjoyed the update :)
> 
> AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR TO ALL OF YOU


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